


Double Vision

by CoffeeQuill



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Yoda Acquisition, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Force Bond (Star Wars), Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a, Sickness, The Force, twins au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23746603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeQuill/pseuds/CoffeeQuill
Summary: “Species age differently,” the droid says. Din looks at the blankets again, watches a tiny hand reach up. “Perhaps they could live many centuries.”Two pairs of eyes stare up at him. Big, brown, confused.“Sadly, we’ll never know.” The droid’s arm raises.Din throws a hand out to stop it. “No,” he says. He looks up at the droid. “We’ll bring them in alive.”-----In which Din is sent after not one asset, but two, and his entire life changes.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 201
Kudos: 337





	1. The Assets

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic inspired by a wild conversation on the discord server, leading to the ultimate premise: Din doesn't get just one foundling, but _identical force-sensitive twin foundlings._ Double the trouble, double the fun.
> 
> Come chat on the [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr!](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

“This is only a down payment. I have a camtono of beskar waiting for you upon delivery of the assets.”

_ “Alive.” _

Din Djarin looks up at the Imp scientist,  _ Pershing,  _ his grip tight on the ingot of beskar in his hand. He’s on edge, every muscle tensed, a sinking feeling of guilt sitting in his stomach at just the  _ setting  _ he is currently in. He’s all too aware of the stormtroopers watching them, but he keeps his posture steady and doesn’t give away a sliver of his feelings.

“Yes,” the Client says, though his voice is tight and the word is more of a hiss.  _ “Alive.  _ Although I acknowledge…” he leans forward and Din looks at him again, “that bounty hunting is a complicated profession. This being the case, proof of termination is also acceptable for a lower fee.”

Pershing stares at the Client, a startled expression on his face. “That is  _ not  _ what we agreed upon,” he says, and Din looks at him again.

“I’m simply being pragmatic,” the Client says, leaning back, and Pershing drops his head as though scolded.

Din looks at the Client, frowning beneath his helmet. “You said  _ assets,”  _ he says. “How many people am I looking for?”

“Two,” the Client says. “They have been a difficult pair to capture, but remain together.”

“Let’s see the puck,” Din says, grip tightening on his rifle.

“I’m afraid discretion dictates a less traditional agreement. We can only offer you tracking fobs.” The Client raises his hand and Pershing steps forward. “Though the assets are often in the same place, we do not want to risk only getting one.”

Pershing holds out two tracking fobs. Din rolls his eyes as he takes them, placing both on his belt. They’re deactivated for now, silent as they clip to his waist. “What are the chain codes,” he says, eager to go. He reaches for his vambrace.

“We can only provide the last four digits.”

Din looks up at that, frowning. “Their age? That’s all you can give me?”

“Yes. They are both fifty years old. We can only give you last reported positional data. Between that and the fobs, a man of your skill should make short work of this.”

Din stares at him, a deeply uncomfortable sensation in his stomach, before he begins to get up. With no resistance, he turns and begins to walk towards the door, footsteps heavy.

“The beskar belongs back into the hands of a Mandalorian,” the Client says. “It is good to restore the natural order of things after such disarray. Don’t you agree?”

Din stops at the door. His grip tightens in his hand, the words washing over them. Then, he walks out, the two tracking fobs fixed firm to his person.

He’s used to multiple targets. The thought of dragging in two people, or dragging in one and then going after the other, doesn’t bother him in the slightest. It may be more work and more of a hassle to get them back to his ship, but once he’s there it’s always a simple matter of getting them in the freezer and returning for his reward.

The thought of beskar in the hands of an Imp makes his blood boil.

He takes the job with a more mechanical attitude than most hunts, with determination to not just survive it but return the metal to his tribe. The Imp was right that Mandalorian iron being in the hands of Mandalorians was the natural order of things.

He’ll take the Ugnaught’s help. He’ll ride the damn Blurrg and when he gets to the compound in the middle of nowhere, tracking fobs beeping softly, he groans at the sight.

“Droids,” he huffs, getting up from his position on the ridge.

He doesn’t mind working with a droid for the sole purpose of getting a job done. He’ll hate it and not trust it and grumble to himself about it, but if it’s what he has to do to return the beskar, he’ll do it. With irritation, he partners himself with the bounty droid.

They clear the compound. Though the door is sealed shut, they turn and see the machine blaster, mounted and powerful. Seconds later, the door is blasted open and it falls to the floor with a clang. Din and the bounty droid walk inside as the tracking fobs beep. Another mercenary steps out from around the corner.

Din shoots him dead with no hesitation.

“Anyone else?” he calls.

They receive no response and both begin to walk further in. Sunlight beams shine across the floor. “The tracking fob is still active,” the droid says. Din pulls out a fob and holds it out. “My sensors indicate that there are two lifeforms present.”

_ Two,  _ Din thinks.  _ Perfect. _

The fob beeps quickly but as he turns his arm, it speeds up. There’s a small, rounded container against the wall, covered by ragged netting. Din approaches, his steps cautious, and the fob begins to shriek as he steps up to it. He holds the fob towards it and it beeps like mad. He reaches out and brushes the netting off.

The droid approaches, footsteps clanging against the floor. Din glances at him, then reaches down and presses a button on the container. There’s a mechanical  _ whirrr  _ and the front portion of the device cracks open and lowers into the sides. Din steps back and beside the droid, staring down.

Inside is a mess of blankets.

Din feels his stomach jolt.

“Wait,” he says. He looks at the droid. “They said  _ fifty years old.” _

“Species age differently,” the droid says. Din looks at the blankets again, watches a tiny hand reach up. “Perhaps they could live many centuries.”

Two pairs of eyes stare up at him. Big, brown, confused.

“Sadly, we’ll never know.” The droid’s arm raises.

Din throws a hand out to stop it. “No,” he says. He looks up at the droid. “We’ll bring them in alive.”

There are tiny squeaks. The eyes follow them as they speak.

“The commission was quite specific,” the droid says. “The assets were to be terminated.” The blaster raises, pointing to a singular small face, eyes staring down the barrel of a gun.

_ Psst. _

The droid collapses to the ground, steaming and hissing, a hole burned through its head. Din reholsters his blaster and tilts his head to the side, staring down at the wrapped bundles inside the pram. He lifts a hand and holds it out, tracked by eyes, as he extends an index and pinky finger. He gives both a small beckoning.

Two hands reach up to him.

He walks through the desert with the pram trailing behind, the only sound coming from wind, his footsteps, and the soft coos and murmurs from the assets. They’re near silent as they walk but for the occasional sounds, and when he looks back they’re both staring off into the distance, eyes huge, as though the planet is something they’ve never seen before. The lizards draw their attention. It gives him the odd internal question of if they ever  _ have  _ seen the outside, but he pushes it away.

None of his business.

The fact that he’s bringing in two defenseless children is an unsettling discovery that sits in his mind but he refuses to acknowledge it. There is  _ beskar  _ waiting for him to return to his tribe. He’s brought in…  _ young  _ targets before. Teenagers on the verge of adulthood who decided to fuck themselves over but knew the consequences. In the past, they’d been rich brats, the ones who thought they were invincible,  _ untouchable  _ until Din froze them. 

He’d never felt good about that. But the consolation then had been that they  _ knew  _ what they were doing and made the effort to defend themselves.

He doesn’t know what the Empire wants with children.

It’s not his place to ask.

It’s against the Guild code.

_ What about your Creed? _

He pushes the disturbing thought away as they walk into the canyon, the high walls on either side providing shade from the hot sun. There’s a small  _ trill  _ from behind and he glances back to see the two practically wrapped around each other, one with eyes shut while the other is staring at Din. He looks away and keeps walking.

An unsettling feeling begins in his stomach and he stops, looking around. The hair on his arms stands on end, the creeping sensation that someone is near, and he stops to look, hand drifting towards his blaster.

For a moment, silence.

Then the trandoshans drop from above.

He raises his blaster but his arm is knocked down. Rapid beeping gets his attention and he sees two fobs on the trandoshan’s belt. In an instant he turns and motions the pram away in a shove, sending it flying to the other side of the canyon. Both children shriek.

He blocks the strikes with his vambraces, backing up, until he has the opportunity to rip the hunter’s weapon out of his grasp and slam him to the ground. Another drops and Din turns to block a strike just as a third appears. He’s caught between both until the weapon is thrown from his hands and he’s left to block with his vambraces.

He can still hear the beeps of the fob. He grits his teeth as he blocks strikes and manages his own, wrenching his rifle over his back to shock and defend. He electrocutes one, slams the other down with the rifle.

The first trandoshan sprints past him, towards the assets. He raises the blade over his head, letting out a cry, and Din jerks his rifle up. Takes aim. Pulls the trigger.

The hunter explodes into orange sparks, fading away as only a pile of clothing remains. The tracking fobs fall to the ground. They blink and beep in tandem, matching perfectly.

Din takes deep gulping breaths, looking at the assets. They stare back at him, almost unreactive to what’s just occurred, near identical but for the slight ear twitches and slightly varied clothing that distinguish them from mirror images.

They stare at each other as the fobs beep.

Then, catching his breath, waves the pram on and it floats to his side. He begins to walk again, this time with a stronger sense of urgency. He loops his rifle back over his shoulder again and pulls his blaster to keep in his hand, scanning now with more paranoia.

_ How many hunters did they send? _

Behind him, the small assets fall perfectly silent.

They press on.

They don’t speak. It’s not a surprise considering how young they seem for their species, but there’s no communication at all and yet there seems to be anyway. Din doesn’t watch them much, not as they walk through the desert. But as the sun sets and light begins to fade, he makes the observation.

As he sets down his lantern and examines the wound on his arm, he doesn’t miss the way the two copies stare at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches them. One turns to the other, and the other looks back, as though a conversation is happening with just their eyes. Din watches as he takes his soldering tool and spreads the fabric around the wound, then grits his teeth when it sparks against his skin. He just needs the wound to close, to burn over rather than continue oozing blood. He’s got a million scars like that all over. One more isn’t much. He’ll have to stitch the fabric shut, but it’s not that much of an effort.

He spares another glance towards the assets. They’re swamped by the blankets around them, pressed close together with interlocked hands as though being apart is unimaginable. Din then shakes his head and turns his full attention to cauterizing the wound, gritting his teeth and wincing with each spark.

He can’t help the hisses and grunts that escape.  _ “Osik.”  _ It hurts like  _ hell.  _ His lantern only provides so much light and it’s becoming cooler as the sun disappears. He focuses in on the wound, shifting to curl in on himself, and gives himself a few seconds of a break to breathe before continuing. His attention is taken enough that he doesn’t notice the little shadow creeping out of the pram, or notice it approach him.

Not until there’s a soft coo and he looks up to see one of the kids standing beside him, straining to reach up towards his arm.

Din puts the soldering tool down and grabs the asset’s hand, pushing it down as he scoops him up. He stands and walks over to the pram, placing him back inside next to the other one. Both stare up at him and make soft noises before grabbing hands again.

Din shakes his head and returns to his spot, grabbing the tool again.

He works on his armor this time, fixing the wiring within. There’s another soft coo and he looks down, startled, to see an asset reaching up towards him, straining even harder, eyes squeezed shut and face scrunched with the effort. It’s the other one this time, he thinks. The clothing is made of the same durable material but looks more worn.

Din sighs and scoops him up, too, and walks to the pram. He places him back in beside the other, and both stare up at him with their big eyes, wide and reflective of the lantern’s light. Their hands grasp together.

He looks back down at them, tilting his head to the side. For a moment it’s silent and they only look at each other. Then Din reaches for his controls and the pram closes up, encasing them in darkness.

He returns to his armor.

As the sun rises, he wakes with a jolt, sore and stiff. He sits up and stretches, cracking various joints, then hears the soft whimpering from the side. He looks over at the pram, still closed, and hears the muffled twin whines. The memories of the last day wash over him in an instant and his stomach growls.

_ When did they last eat? _

It’s a more humanizing thought than he should have for his targets, but  _ detached  _ doesn’t have to mean  _ cruel.  _ He reaches to his pouch and pulls out a ration bar. A bite or two is always enough to fill him and he opens it, tearing off a chunk for himself. He lifts his helmet and pops it in his mouth before lowering it again. Then he stands, chewing, and walks to the pram.

He hits the button on his controls and the pram cracks open, its sides lowering down, and the assets are exactly where he’d left them. They squeeze their eyes shut against the sun, then blink up at him, still squinting in the light. Din turns and begins to gather up his tools, grabbing the lantern.

When he turns around, he stops and freezes, staring at the pram that now sits empty.

_ What the hell? _

He sprints to the pram and digs through the blankets, but they’re not hiding beneath them. He looks around but sees nothing but sand and rock. His heart jumps into his throat as his hands drop to his belt, feeling to the tracking fobs. He pulls off one, and it’s deactivated, but in an instant he turns it on and--

He stops at the sound of a blowing raspberry.

He turns around, fob still gripped in his hand, and follows the sound over the small rock ridge where it slopes down at a shallow angle. The assets are cooing and trilling as they wander off, their walk more a waddle, their hands still gripped together as they look out at the desert.

Din lets out a sigh and walks over. They turn to look at him and he tilts his head at them before he leans down and reaches for one. He takes them by the waist and lifts but the other won’t let go and instead lets out a shriek, pulling on his copy’s hand. Both let out their own shrieks then, a noise so loud and shrill that it overloads his helmet’s sensors and he hisses in pain.

He reaches out and scoops up the other asset. For a second, this provides blessed relief, as the screaming stops. But he tucks each under an arm as he begins to walk back and it’s another mistake. Both reach for each other, faces scrunching just before they let out identical piercing wails, breaking into sobs.

Din’s entire body tenses, wincing at the sound, and when he takes a step his foot hits something and he falls, hitting the ground with a groan. The assets are dropped and disappear from his reach as he gets to his hands and knees. He pushes up to one knee and turns to see the stupid rock he tripped over, only nothing is there.

He stares, then turns and looks at the children.

They’re standing just a few feet away, shoulders pressed together, looking at him. Their hands are locked again and they both sniffle, tears in their eyes.

They don’t run. They just stay together.

Din watches them, and when he moves a foot closer they take a step back. But they still don’t try to run. Din holds his hands out in surrender.

“You stay together,” he says. “I get it. Okay? You both stay together.”

The assets watch him. They give each other a brief look, then at him again.

“We need to go,” Din says.

He reaches for them again. This time he scoops one in each hand with care, and this time there is no screaming. He cradles them against his chest, then walks to the pram and places them both inside. They look up at him and Din again goes to gather his tools.

They coo and trill but make no attempts at escape. Din calls the pram to his side and begins walking again through the desert. There’s an unsettled sensation in his stomach but he continues on. They just have to get back to the  _ Razor Crest. _ They’ll fly to Nevarro. He’ll get his reward and they’ll be gone and he won’t have to think about it again. His armor can be replaced after years of use, he’ll have better protection, he’ll be able to keep providing for his tribe.

He hardens himself against the soft noises coming from behind and puts up the cold exterior.

The sun rises into the sky. Soon the  _ Razor Crest _ isn’t far and they approach the ridge that overlooks the valley. But the sound of raspy, high-pitched voices and clanking metal draws his attention and he stares down into the valley at a massive crawling fortress. It’s parked beside his ship and there’s a stream of jawas between the two vehicles. Din scowls and drops to a knee, pulling his rifle around and taking off the scope.

His ship is in fucking shreds.

Fury building, he raises his rifle and zooms in on the scope, taking aim. He finds one jawa and takes the shot, the creature exploding into dust and dropping the tube it carried. He reaches down to his boot and pulls the next charge, reloading. He jams it in and aims again, shooting a second into nothing.

Beside him, the assets make curious coos. They crowd against the front of the pram, leaning out to watch.

A jawa holds a gun, blindly shooting it. Din reloads and shoots it, dissolving it to nothing. The jawas are rushing onto the sand crawler, the door beginning to close, and Din gets to his feet before running after it.

He sprints down into the valley. He drops to his knee and aims up for the sand crawler’s tail end, firing a shot. It pierces the pipe and steam shoots out, but there’s no other effect and he scowls before rushing to his feet.

No parts, no flying home. No reward, no beskar, no providing for the tribe. Any thought of the assets with him disappears, so focused on charging the fortress that they may as well not be there. He catches up and jumps, grabbing onto the side.

He begins to climb.

When he hits the ground, the lights go out. For too long, he lays still, until his eyes open again and he jolts up.

His entire body aches, still feeling shocked from both the electricity and the fall. He breathes raggedly, pain all over his body. He turns his head and sees the tracks of the sand crawler but it’s nowhere in sight. He lets out a pained breath. He turns again to see the pram hovering nearby, both children sitting and staring at him. He blinks at them. He’s sure there was only one pram before. And two targets, not four.

They just watch him.

With a pained sigh, Din gets to his feet.

The ship is completely torn apart. When they return to it and he walks through it, the anger keeps building and building. His weapons locker is raided. Pipes and tubing hang from the ceiling, panels from the walls missing. He goes up to the cockpit but it’s completely stripped, just about everything taken from it.

His engines make a half-hearted whine at best.

Exhausted and frustrated, he goes back down below and sits, leaning back as he stares at the decimated ship. He sucks in a breath, then lets out a sigh.

There’s a soft squeal. He looks to the side door and down, where one kid peeks around the corner and makes another small squeal. At first, his brother is nowhere to be seen, until he too appears around the corner. Their hands aren’t glued but they do press together, looking up at Din with curiosity.

Din shakes his head, then stands. He walks over, scoops them up into his arms, and walks down the ramp towards the pram.

There’s only one option left.

The assets pout about being back in the transport device but don’t make a further fuss. Din waves the pram to his side and begins to walk. The sun is starting to set, but he hopes to keep the light at least until they arrive at their destination; Arvala-7 days feel short, but the sun takes time to rise and set.

The sinking feeling in his stomach won’t go away.

The walk to the Ugnaught’s takes long but they manage to make it before the sun completely sets, still light to see by as they approach the small compound that serves as both farm and home.

“I thought you were dead.”

Din feels like he is.

As he’s given tools to repair his circuitry, he allows the assets out of the pram to wander, both looking delighted to do so. They stay linked by the hand, cooing and blowing raspberries, one following the other like a train. When a frog hops nearby, their eyes light up and they waddle after it together.

The Ugnaught looks at them, then at Din. “This is what was causing all the fuss?”

They stop their hunt to look up at the Ugnaught.

“I think they’re children,” Din says.

“It’s better to deliver them alive, then.” The Ugnaught walks past him to the table full of tools.

“My ship has been  _ destroyed,”  _ Din says. “I’m trapped here.”

“Stripped, not destroyed. The jawas steal.” The Ugnaught holds out a tool to him. “They don’t destroy.”

Din takes it. “Stolen or destroyed, makes no  _ difference  _ to me.”

The assets both make excited noises. Din looks over. They’re focused on the frog now, letting go of each other but still close as they follow after it. One lunges forward and dives on top of the frog.

“They’re protected by the crawling fortress,” he says. “There’s no way to recover the parts.”

“You can trade.”

“With jawas? Are you out of your mind?”

“I will take you to them.” The Ugnaught looks at him. “I have spoken.”

Din lets out a sigh. Then realizes that things have gone quiet behind him, followed by a squeal. He turns around and looks at the pair, then huffs. One asset is busy scarfing down the frog,  _ whole,  _ while the other looks on with a sad expression.

“Hey!” he snaps. “Spit that  _ out.” _

But there’s no hesitation and the kid swallows, then looks up at Din with a smile and a coo. He lets out a burp and then giggles. Until his brother drops down to sit on the ground, sniffling, and lets out a soft mournful wail. The smile disappears and he comes to the other’s side instead. Din glances at the Ugnaught, who shakes his head.

The wail goes on, but soon fades out and instead the kid turns and looks up at Din with shiny eyes. Then he stands and holds his arms up, letting out a shriek.

“No,” Din says. “Whatever you want, no.”

The asset’s expression falls and he stares at Din before his eyes squeeze shut, tears falling, and he lets out another wail. This one has more intensity, veering into sobs. It’s loud and akin to an alarm.

Din scowls. “Fine!” he says. “Fine. I’ll find you a frog, too.”

The crying tapers off. The tears still fall, but the kid stares up at Din, sniffling.

Din huffs and looks to the Ugnaught. “Any more around here?” he says.

The Ugnaught nods, turning away to place a tool back on the table, but Din can hear him suppressing a laugh.


	2. The Bartering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kid makes a squeaky trill and looks up at him with innocence, then reaches out towards him with grabby hands. Din holds him out at arm’s length, “Stop. I said no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrangling two toddlers in the desert while trying to salvage your ship? Difficult.
> 
> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

Finding another frog is both aggravating and  _ humiliating,  _ Din thinks, but once the kid scarfs it down he’s rewarded with much more peace and quiet rather than the small whimpers that kept following him. It’s disgusting to watch. The kid swallows the thing whole with little difficulty and then just smiles at Din after. But Din just sighs and walks over to finally help the Ugnaught attach a transport bed to one of the Blurrgs.

They’ll ride through the night to be there by day. He doesn’t know what the hell negotiations with jawas are like and part is him is sure it won’t even be possible. But at the  _ very least  _ it will get him close. He’ll roast every single one if it means getting his parts back.

Once the attachments are made, Din walks over to the twins. They’re hopping about, giggling as though there are lines to jump over that he can’t see. When he stands in front of them, they stop and turn to stare up at him.

He reaches down and scoops them up. They coo and look around but don’t squirm that much as he walks over to the transport bed, placing them down inside. The pram is called over to his side and he takes his rifle, climbing up and into the front. It floats beside him, the two assets sitting quietly.

“You should rest,” the Ugnaught says. “It will take time to get there.”

Exhaustion does pull at him, but he’s so used to resisting it that being told to rest is almost startling.  _ Gar shuk meh kyrayc  _ his father had told him repeatedly when Din was still a teen, always with a sigh when Din insisted he could go from hours of training to hours of guard duty without sleep in between.  _ You’re no use dead.  _ The memory makes him smile to himself, but it’s still with reluctance that he puts his rifle down and shifts into the bed of the transport.

He shifts until he’s lying down on his back, looking up at the stars. The assets are holding onto the side of the bed but turn to watch him -- the ears are the most expressive part of them, rising and lowering in response to his every move.

_ Trust  _ is a heavy word to use. He can’t say that he  _ trusts _ the Ugnaught completely. But he’s given Din no reason to be suspicious either, so he closes his eyes to get at least a few minutes. He needs to sleep. Now that he’s just lying there, he can feel the draw to sleep.

He closes his eyes and lets out a breath, lying still.

Then there’s a coo and he nearly jerks, startled, as he turns to look at the asset standing beside him. He stares at Din, tilting his head, ears perked and up.

“No,” he says. The kid stares at him, reactive to his words. Then Din pauses. “Where’s the-”

Little hands press just below his hip bone and he looks down to see the other clone trying to climb onto his leg, straining to do so. Din sits up and grabs him up,  _ “No.”  _ The kid makes a squeaky trill and looks up at him with innocence, then reaches out towards him with grabby hands. Din holds him out at arm’s length, “Stop. I said no.”

But there’s another small weight back at his hip and he looks down at the second asset, trying to climb at the same spot, this time managing it quicker. He uses Din’s holster, planting a foot on it to push up, and scrambles onto Din’s cuiss. He stands, shaking a little, but leans forward and plants his hands against Din’s cuirass for balance. He looks up at Din with a giggle.

The kid in his arms lets out a coo and squirms about, whimpering softly. Din huffs and sets him aside on the bed, then grabs off the second one and puts him there as well. “Stop,” he says.  _ “Nu copikla.” _

He doesn’t mean to use Mando’a, but it’s a well-used reprimand from home that slips out. It makes them stop and they both tilt their heads, staring up at him, still with expressions of perfect innocence. It seems as though they recognize it’s a different language and perk up at the sound.

“Not cute,” he says again. “Stay there.”

When they only look at him, making no further attempt to climb him, Din lets out a breath and lays down again. He’s tensed at first, listening for the sounds of feet or approaching coos, but after a minute he looks over again and they haven’t moved. They just watch him, holding hands.

Then he lets himself relax, head turned away, and lets out a breath. He has all night. Just an hour or so and he’ll be okay. A power nap.

There’s a burst of giggles. He looks over, but they’re still in place, watching him with smiles. It’s  _ unnerving.  _ Din stares at them, then settles again, letting out a sigh. The faster he gets them off his hands, the better. He closes his eyes.

Then there’s a sharp giggle and two little weights climbing up onto his abdomen, clawed feet digging into his side for a foothold. He jerks his head up just as the two crawl onto his cuirass and sit on his chest, looking at him with amused grins. They let out happy shrieks, as though summiting him is the achievement of their lives.

He lets out a sigh and sits up, catching them in his arms as they tumble back with squeals. He gets to his knees and calls the pram over, placing both assets inside. The make whines and grabby hands but when he pulls away, they don’t reach. One just looks up at him with perked ears while the other seems to deflate, ears down and looking at Din with sad eyes.

_ They want affection. _

He looks at them.

_ You’re not getting it from me. _

He pushes the pram back out to follow alongside the transport bed, a gap between so they can’t get over. A drop of rain falls from the sky. Feeling more tired than ever, he lays down again. A few drops splatter against his visor, and he stares up at the sky, the exhaustion sinking into his bones. The fall from the sand crawler did a number on him. He just needs a few minutes. Just a bit of sleep.

Then the excited shrieks start.

He looks over and the assets are still in their pram but staring up at the sky. One suddenly squeezes his eyes shut and looks startled when a big drop lands on his forehead. Then he giggles and grabs the side of the pram, rocking himself back and forth as he looks at the sky. The other looks just as delighted, cooing at the dark clouds.

Din wonders if they’ve ever seen rain before. It seems like they haven’t.

But he imagines sopping wet blankets and the future crying over wet clothes that can’t be replaced, so he reaches for his vambrace and closes the pram. The sides come up and together to block out the rain and he hears the sad coos from inside before eventually silence.

He turns over, and unbothered by the rain, manages to drift off.

When he wakes up, the sun is shining. He blinks away the sleep from his eyes and sits up, cracking his neck before looking around. He’s still lying in the transport bed. He hears soft coos and looks towards the pram. It’s open now and the two assets are crowded at the front end as the Ugnaught feeds them pieces of food.

Certain they’re not in danger, Din relaxes. He begins to stretch instead, shaking off the rest of sleep.

“Are we close?” he asks.

The Ugnaught looks over. “A few minutes away,” he says. “I figured you would want to be awake when we arrived.”

“How long?”

“A few hours.”

That explains the stiffness. He climbs off the transport bed and takes a moment to stretch, feeling pops and clicks. His mobility is to his advantage in fights and he can’t afford to slip on that.

The assets are calm and content in their pram, but as one eats the pieces of meat the other is watching Din. From far away, there is virtually no difference between them, though it seems their demeanors are different. One is more shy, the other more confident. But visually, he can’t tell one from the other until they’re close and he can see the tiny patch jobs on one’s coat.

Din approaches, looking down at them, and the one watching him squeals and holds his arms up. When Din doesn’t react, the arms drop and he instead makes a small whimper.

“They eat meat,” he says.

“It seems they do,” the Ugnaught says.

It’s helpful information. He doesn’t know how long they’ll be here. The Client was fine with dead targets as long as he had proof, but he could still imagine some beskar bars getting taken out for damaged goods.

_ Detached, not cruel. _

Once the twins seem fed and settled, and Din is fully awake, he climbs back into the transport bed. There’s soft whimpers and they’re both reaching out towards him, expressions pleading. Din sighs and reaches over, taking one asset and then the other, placing them down in the transport bed. Before they can come to him for attention, he grabs his rifle and sits at the front again, holding it in a guarded position.

They begin to move again. The sand crawler comes into view, the jawas spread out around it with parts lying about. As soon as he’s in sight, they burst into nervous activity, yelling to each other.

The Ugnaught calls out to them in Jawaese, waving his arm. But the jawas aren’t placated and instead scurry into pitiful defense, holding blasters.

“They really don’t like you for some reason,” the Ugnaught says.

“Well, I did disintegrate a few of them,” Din says. He looks up at the sand crawler. Jawas are leaning out to watch, peeking out of the windows. From behind, the assets make curious coos.

“You need to drop your rifle.”

“I’m a Mandalorian,” Din says. “Weapons are part of my  _ religion.” _

“Then you are not getting your parts back.”

Din stares at the jawas. They stare back. Finally, he lets out a sigh, “Fine.” He lowers his rifle and gets off the transport. He throws a glance towards the kids, who are staring at the jawas and then up at him.

_ “And  _ the blaster.”

Din looks at him, and for a moment the Ugnaught stares back at him with similar intensity before walking over to the thieves, hands raised in peace. Din reaches down and grabs his blaster, dropping it onto the transport near a box and away from the twins. He walks over, ready to get his parts back.

If it’s even possible.

He has no idea what the Egg is, but he does know as soon as the mudhorn opens its eyes.

He barely manages to fire his blaster a few times before he’s slammed with a horn and thrown completely out of the den, landing in the mud with a pained groan and sparking, damaged armor. The mudhorn stalks out into the sun, and Din scrambles for his rifle.

Jammed.

_ I did not fucking sign up for this. _

He’s rammed again, sending him flying, and he can barely look up from his daze to see the mudhorn turn its attention on the hovering pram nearby. The assets are huddled together inside, staring at the animal, unresponsive when it charges towards them.

Din sucks in air and taps on his controls, throwing the pram aside, and the mudhorn slams into rock instead. It turns and snarls, then begins another charge at him. He throws out a cloud of fire but the horn smashes down into his chest, crushing him into the ground, and the breath is forced out of his lungs. He shoots another cloud of fire and the mudhorn backs off but seems more irritated than hurt.

Instead, he shoots his grappling hook, and then he’s being dragged along for a ride.

A stand is impossible in the mud but before the mudhorn can drag him too far he pulls off his vambrace and goes rolling instead, hissing and grunting in pain. He manages to get to a knee but he’s slammed again, thrown into the air. From behind, he can hear startled squeaks from the assets.

He lands on his back, and for a few seconds, he can’t bring himself to move.

Then, he pushes up.

His armor is in shreds. The front plating of his cuirass is barely hanging on and bent in half. His blaster and rifle are gone, his vambrace is gone, his fire is useless.

He gets to a knee and pulls his vibroblade. Every movement hurts. He brings it into both hands and turns it on, feeling it vibrate in his hands, shaking. He holds it out in front of him as the mudhorn paws the ground, snarling, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he dips his head. The beast charges towards him. He lets out a breath, thinking of home. Of all the birthday gifts he won’t get to bring home, the foundlings who would miss his stories, and who would be chosen to replace him as  _ beroya.  _ He thinks of his father and the hearty laugh he hasn’t heard in years.

He’s had these last thoughts planned for a long time.

He’s ready for impact.

But it doesn’t come.

When the mudhorn roars and charges, he’s ready for his last stand, but nothing happens except another roar that’s almost confused. He looks up and his eyes widen, sucking in a breath.

The beast is  _ floating. _

It paws in the air but there’s no movement as it hovers above the ground. He gets to his feet and stares at it, then turns and looks towards the pram.

Both assets have their hands extended towards the mudhorn, trembling, eyes squeezed shut. Din stares. One seems to be taking more of the strain, shaking all over, while the other is strained but steadier. Din can only watch in both awe and confusion before looking back towards the mudhorn.

The kid collapses back into the pram. The other drops their hand too, looking exhausted, as the mudhorn drops back onto the ground. Din stumbles back at the impact, then throws his arm forward and stabs the blade into the side of the beast. It howls and he slips back into the mud. It takes him a second, but he gets up again, panting.

He jabs the knife in again. Twist, rip. He pulls the vibroblade out and lets out a breath, pain throbbing all over his body. After a moment, he turns and begins to walk towards the pram, limping as he does.

One child is passed out cold, breathing softly. The other is awake but on the verge of passing out as well, blinking at Din through sleepy eyes. He can’t assign an emotion to what he just witnessed. He doesn’t know what it was. What it means. The two little ones won’t provide an answer. All he’s given is a yawn before the other turns and snuggles down against his brother, content to sleep too.

Din sighs and goes to get the damn Egg.

He can recount the story to the Ugnaught as many times as he wants, but it doesn’t make the tale any clearer. Though one asset remains asleep, fitful but still unconscious, the other has been drifting in and out. With gentle prodding from Din, he’ll wake and look up at him, quiet and sleepy. “Aaah,” he gurgles, holding a hand out.

Din pushes his hand down and pulls away again.

As they begin to repair the ship, the same asset soon decides he’s awake and wanders the worksite instead. To Din, with memories of their screams at being physically separated, it’s impressive. Though he keeps looking back towards the pram where his brother sleeps, he tries to hunt the lizards around them.

Replacing all the parts takes almost forever, but with enough time, the  _ Razor Crest _ begins to look like herself again. Din keeps giving glances towards the wandering asset but with a seemingly invisible tether to the pram, he’s confident he isn’t going anywhere in the dark.

Until he nearly steps on him.

He’s carrying a chest of ammunition to the cargo hold when there’s a coo and he looks down, freezing with a foot in the air. The kid is standing inches in front of him, staring up with big eyes, and Din has to redirect his momentum with an awkward lunge overtop the asset. He resets himself and looks down at the kid.

“Go back over there,” he says.

The asset raises his arms up towards Din.

Din stares at him, then looks around and lets out a sigh. The sun is gone and there’s no light but for the lamps directed at the  _ Razor Crest. _ The other copy is still asleep. Din looks at him again, arms still held up, and the tiny thing pushes up onto his toes as though height will be convincing.

Better if he doesn’t get squished in the commotion. But he needs his hands.

He looks towards the Ugnaught. “Got anything like a sling?” he says. If he were at the covert, he could grab a  _ birikad  _ with no problem.

No, nothing like a sling. But the Ugnaught walks to his Blurrg and reappears with a patchwork blanket. The asset watches with patient interest as Din ties the blanket over a shoulder and around, making sure there’s a pocket at his chest. He bends down and picks the kid up, placing him inside, and the asset makes a delighted trill as he squirms about in the blanket. He pops his head out and looks up at Din, then around, cooing.

Din picks up the ammunition and continues the work.

The asset is content to ride along with him. He’s near weightless and out of the way, quiet as he simply watches it all, so Din doesn’t mind. Slowly, the ship comes along. Panels and wiring are replaced, his weapons returned, flyable again.

He’s coming down from the cockpit when the kid begins to squeal, squirming about in his pouch.

Din stops and looks down, then lifts the asset out and places him on the floor. With surprising speed, the asset takes off across the cargo hold and down the ramp. Din follows. He speeds past the Ugnaught and towards the pram, stopping just beside it. He puts his hands against the undercarriage and makes another squeal before looking at Din.

Din steps up and peers into the pram. The other one is sitting up, blinking sleepily, and he stares up at Din for a moment before getting up. He crawls to the side of the pram and looks down towards his twin, then begins to climb out.

“No,” Din says. He pushes the kid back in with one hand, then grabs the other and places him in, too. “You both stay there.”

They make sad whimpers, but no further escape attempts.

When they finish, the sun is in the sky, and the pram hovers nearby. Din watches the Ugnaught mount his Blurrg, his offer of crewmanship rebuffed, but he’s still grateful nonetheless.

“And good luck with the children. May they survive and bring you a handsome reward.”

Din nods, though it’s a sudden reminder of what he’s to do now.

“I have spoken.”

As the Ugnaught turns and leaves him, Din turns as well and goes to the cockpit. The pram follows him up the ladder and he motions it into the co-pilot seat, then slumps into the pilot’s seat and begins the startup sequence. His engines turn on. Outside the window, the Ugnaught waves. He begins liftoff.

Behind him, there’s soft coos. He ignores it as they enter space, but as he sets in the coordinates for Nevarro, it starts to become louder.

There’s a moment of silence. He pauses and looks over his shoulder, and the two are sitting up, staring at him. They’re silent. He frowns to himself, then turns and continues programming their course. The coos start up again and he turns again.

They’ve moved. Still sitting in the pram. But they’ve clearly moved. He looks at them, watching them as they watch him. “Stay there,” he says. Then he turns.

There’s no sound. But then there’s the softest little  _ tap  _ of clawed feet touching the ground and he closes his eyes for a moment. He readjusts his grip on the joysticks and stays in place. Then there’s another  _ taptap  _ and he lets out a sigh. Give it a few seconds. Just a few…

“Aaah!”

He looks down at his side where one of the assets stands, staring up at him, his hands reaching up and his face scrunched as though he’s about to cry. Din huffs. He hits autopilot and scoops him up before standing and walking back to the pram. He places him back inside, then looks around. “Where’s the other one?” he says.

The kid just giggles.

There’s a  _ clack  _ and a whooshing sound and he whips around to see the other one already climbed onto the dashboard, patting his hand against a green button to turn it off and on. He giggles at the flashing colors. Din scowls and grabs him up, dumping him back in the pod beside the other, and both look up at him with sad pouts.

_ Straight to the Client,  _ he thinks.

Though the assets pout at him, he settles back into the chair. He reaches out to his message system and begins a new transmission. The recording symbol pops up.

“Karga,” he says. “I have the bounties. Status, both alive. Returning now.”

He reaches out and ends the recording. With a few button taps, it’s sent off to Karga. He calculates the hyperdrive jump, plotting the exit coordinates, then pulls the lever and sends them into the stars.

The blue and white flashes of light are mesmerizing. He turns the chair to glance back at the assets, who sit in their pram with held hands but now stare at the lights with wide eyes.

Din turns back again, taking a long, deep breath. They’ll be gone and this would all be over soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Gar shuk meh kyrayc - you're no use dead (telling someone to take a break or rest.)  
> Nu copikla - not cute  
> Beroya - bounty hunter  
> Birikad - baby carrying harness
> 
> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)


	3. The Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He turns the chair and looks back. The pram is gone, leaving the ship dead silent but for the machinery. Across the ship, he can see his bed, the blanket still ruffled from the kid hiding beneath. The laughter still plays in his head, his heartbeat along with it.
> 
> _You swore an oath._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din returns for his prize.
> 
> The [Covert discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

By the time they’re out of hyperspace and Nevarro comes into sight, Din is _relieved._ He’s done. Hours of hyperspace, trapped within the confines of the ship with two toddlers who will _not_ stop riling each other up, is a hell he didn’t know he feared. Simply closing the pram with them inside had seemed a good idea. That surely, they couldn’t escape it and go running about on the ship.

Until the pram had clicked open and the little womp rats hopped out, making another break for the ladder with shrieking laughter. Din couldn’t even hear the end of Karga’s message before he was out of his seat, running to catch them before they could throw themselves down the ladder.

They figured out the lock. He didn’t know _how._ If it was something on the inside he couldn’t find or if it was… whatever _power_ they had used on the mudhorn. But they had found their escape and if there weren’t so many dangers on the ship, he wouldn’t care. He’s already missing the metal grip on one of his controls -- it’d been stolen to make a ball to play with, and he has no idea where it is now.

He wasn’t going to carbon-freeze two kids. _Demagolka._ The word flashed across his mind when the thought appeared.

Now, settling down on Nevarro, Din lets out a breath of relief. He shuts down the ship’s engines and gets up, turning again, but the pram behind him is empty. With a frustrated sigh, he gets up and walks out of the cockpit, calling it to follow. From below in the cargo hold, he can hear soft laughter, and knows that they’re going to send him on another hunt through whatever small crawl spaces there are in the hold.

His feet hit the floor and the pram floats down after him. “We’re going,” he says, voice firm. “Now.”

Silence. He looks around, but they’re out of sight. He slowly walks across the hold, looking around, but they’ve ditched the previous spots for somewhere new.

 _“Now,”_ he repeats.

There’s a shushed giggle and he turns towards the noise. It’s muffled - they’re behind something. With a groan, he walks forward and back towards the ladder. He pulls back the curtain on the vacc tube, but they’re not behind it. He lets out a grumble and turns. They can fit--

There’s another laugh and Din whips around to look. He turns his gaze towards the storage compartment built into the wall, its door closed. He frowns and hits the button. The door shoots open and one asset stares up at him, cooing with a smile.

Only one.

“Where’s the other?” he demands.

But the asset just laughs and Din sweeps him up with a sigh, settling him into the pram. He reaches to his belt and grabs both tracking fobs, turning them on. One started to scream its beeps, so close to its target, and he switches it off. The other one is slow, but still fast. He looks around, turning slowly, until the beeps increase and he’s facing the stairs.

He begins to climb.

He checks the cockpit again, but the beeping only decreases, and he turns around. The beeps increase. The pram follows and there’s a wild giggle from the asset inside, who hasn’t tried to escape. Din looks at him, then up towards his bedroom. It’s small, storing barely more than a bed, some drawers for extra clothing and whatever personal belongings he wants to keep.

He walks inside.

His bed isn’t much. It’s enough for one person, not really two -- perfect for someone in full armor. He has a few blankets for some comfort and a pillow. It’s not much at all, though he knows there _isn’t_ usually a lump on his bed. Definitely not a wriggling one.

Din lets out a grumble and walks over. He pulls the blanket back and the child pops up in an instant, looking up at Din with wild giggles. It’s _almost_ endearing, but Din scoops the kid up and drops him into the pram without a word. The asset lets out a soft whimper instead and he walks out of the bedroom, heading towards the ladder. Both children quiet down.

_Good._

He grabs his rifle and slings it over his shoulder, climbing back down, and he walks them off the ship. The assets are silent, instead watching with wide eyes at the new place around them. Another ship nearby begins to land, blowing their ears back. Din walks into the town with the pram at his side, heading towards the Client’s safe house.

He can hear tiny coos and squeaks from the assets as they look around at the passing residents of the town. They pass the bazaar and his eyes glance towards the hidden entrance to the covert. After a few moments, making a final turn, his stomach does begin to turn. He starts to feel more unsettled, clenching and relaxing his fists.

He wonders what they’d say if they knew what he was doing.

_Beskar._

He shakes the thoughts away and keeps walking. This is just another job. No questions asked. Deliver the quarry and walk away. On to the next one.

They arrive at the safe house. Din stops in front of the door and pulls the chain code card from his pocket, knocking on the door. The guard droid’s camera pops out and he holds up the card to scan. Beside him, the children make curious and confused coos, looking between Din and the droid.

The camera disappears and the doors open. Storm troopers step out, looking at Din before the assets. For a few moments, they only stare, but then turn back and step inside. Din follows.

They walk down a hallway. The leading trooper grabs the front of the pram, dipping it lower, and the children make small squeaks before staring up at the trooper. Din frowns. “Easy with that,” he says.

 _“You_ take it easy,” the trooper snaps. Din frowns but schools himself.

The doors open and Din immediately hears a tracking fob beeping. “Yes,” the Client says, getting up from behind his desk, and the scientist with him. Din’s stomach won’t stop turning as they walk into the room. “Yes, yes, yes.” The children stare up as the Client and Pershing crowd them, both peering into the pram. _“Yes.”_

Pershing pulls out a scanner and runs the red light over one child’s face, then the other. Din watches. Both kids turn their faces away from the light, making soft whines at the brightness. The scanner clicks once, then again, and Pershing smiles. “Very healthy,” he says. “Yes.”

The Client straightens and looks at Din. “Your reputation was not unwarranted,” he says. 

But Din only tightens his jaw. “How many fobs did you give out?”

“This asset was of extreme importance to me,” he says. “I had to ensure its delivery. But to the winner… go the spoils.”

The Client walks to the table and lifts out a grey camtono. He places in the code and the carrier opens, revealing more bars of pure beskar than Din has seen at once. His heart in his throat, he walks over and takes two bars, examining them. They all have the Imperial sigil. Then there’s soft whimpers and he looks up to see the pram being led into the next room, both kids turned to watch him with sad expressions.

The door closes.

Din stares at the beskar in his hand, and slowly, the dam begins to break.

“What are your plans for it?”

The words are out before he can take them out and the Client stares at him. “How uncharacteristic of one of your reputation,” he says. “You’ve taken both commission and payment. Is it not the code of the guild that these events are now forgotten?”

Behind him, the door opens and stormtroopers set up, blasters gripped in their hands. “The beskar is enough to make a handsome replacement for your armor. Unfortunately, finding a Mandalorian in these trying times is more difficult than finding the steel.”

Din tightens his jaw and grabs the camtono.

The guilt that follows him dogs down every footstep. It’s a hot stone that settles in his stomach, sending a firey warmth through his body that is anything but pleasant. His heart pounds at a steady but quickened pace and his palms sweat beneath his gloves. In the sewer tunnels, surrounded by his people, his heart is beating in his ears but he’s here for armor.

Paz goes for his helmet, and Din fights him off, but _Manda don’t I deserve that?_

What kind of Mandalorian trades away children?

It takes hours for his armor to be prepared, and though the Armorer placates the others, Din still sits in his seat near the forge with angry gazes upon him from the hallway. He focuses on every hammer strike rather than the unsettledness he’s caused and tries to think of anything else.

Every so often, foundlings run past the forge, laughing as they play. Din clenches his fist and squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a breath. _Don’t think about it. Don’t think about them._ But the kids have made this tunnel their play area and though they don’t set foot inside the forge room, they’re nearby. When they laugh, Din thinks he might hear the twins with them.

 _Guilty conscience,_ he tells himself. _You just feel bad. That’s all it is._

So as the cuirass is finished and being wired, he watches, trying to think of more pleasant things. Thoughts of his father, his _buir,_ are usually calming thoughts. He remembers the day he was found. When he was first brought into Clan Forte, surrounded by Mandalorians who had no end to their patience with his struggle. His father had always been a source of light and love. Din still wears his beskar.

But Din knows what he’d say now, and the sharp _“you swore an oath,_ ad’ika” rings through his head.

When his armor is finished, he puts it on and leaves, desperate to get away from it all.

Karga is a bastard. He’s not the worst person Din has to deal with, but he’s not one to get to the point often and Din despises that. He despises it even more now. He’s not here to show off his traitor’s armor and much less to gloat about his success. He needs to get off this fucking rock and he needs to get children’s laughter out of his head.

He grabs a puck, gets up to go. But for the second time, his heart steps ahead of his brain and he’s opening his mouth again.

“Any idea what they’re going to do with them?”

Karga puts the pucks away. “With what?”

Din turns. “The kids.”

“I didn’t ask.” Karga looks up at him, squinting. “It’s against the guild code.”

“They work for the Empire,” Din says. “What are they doing here?”

“The Empire is _gone,_ Mando! All that’s left are mercenaries and warlords. But if it _bothers_ you… just go back to the Core. And _report_ them to the New Republic.”

“That’s a joke,” Din huffs. As if the Core is a part of the galaxy he can just _go._ As if the New Republic would do shit.

“Mando… _enjoy_ your rewards.” Karga lowers his voice. “Buy a camtono of spice. By the time you come out of hyperdrive, you’ll have forgotten _all_ about it.”

Din scowls. He adjusts his rifle and leaves. He wants spice as much as he wants the healing baths.

The guilt is overwhelming him. He needs this hunt. He needs to fly across the galaxy and spend _days_ trying to drag in a difficult target. It’ll leave him annoyed and frustrated. Even better if the target manages to escape him and he has to follow. The longer, the farther, the better. Whatever the hell gets him to forget what he’s done. A long, long distraction.

He leaves the common house and walks across town to his ship. It sits just as he left it. Tired, he walks up and into it, closing the door behind him. He heads to the ladder, ready to _leave._

Then he steps on something and his ankle nearly turns. He stumbles a bit but keeps his feet, instead hearing the sound of something metal rolling across the floor. Din looks down and sees the metal ball from his controls rolling. As it comes to a stop, he walks over and picks it up. With it gripped in hand, he climbs up the ladder and steps into the cockpit.

He sinks into his seat. He begins the startup sequence, flipping the switches and pressing buttons. He turns on one engine, then reaches out and slowly twists the ball back onto its lever. He wraps his hand around it in a loose grip, then stares at the dash in front of him. He pushes it forward slowly.

He turns the chair and looks back. The pram is gone, leaving the ship dead silent but for the machinery. Across the ship, he can see his bed, the blanket still ruffled from the kid hiding beneath. The laughter still plays in his head, his heartbeat along with it.

_You swore an oath._

He pulls back the lever and reaches up. He walks back on the sequence, turning the ship’s systems off, before he gets up and storms out of the cockpit.

There is no other option.

The discarded pram is enough to make his blood boil. The conversation he manages to pick up between the Client and Pershing isn’t as helpful as he wants, but it _does_ put a time limit on things. He doesn’t know what the hell they want to _extract_ from the kids, but the words do unsettle him.

But it isn’t as though he wasn’t trained for something like this.

With practiced ease from his youth, he can identify the weak points and map out where to plant his charges. Breaking the door droid and drawing out the troopers is easy enough that it’s laughable before he circles around to a back wall. A single charge is all he needs before he takes cover and the wall explodes into sparks and fire. He starts in, blaster in hand.

Two stormtroopers come through, but they’re easy to dispatch. A third comes, Din takes him out with little real effort. It’s been years since the Empire. They must be completely out of their training -- not that it was much training to start with.

He creeps into the safe house. He hooks another stormtrooper, pulls him back onto his knife. He keeps going until he finds another closed door, this time with the sound of machinery behind it. He stops, then raises his blaster and shoots the lock. The door slides open.

A blaster bolt immediately hits his pauldron, jerking his shoulder back. Din lifts his blaster and shoots the stormtrooper, then stalks into the room. The doctor stands in front of the medical bed, placing himself as a shield between Din and the children.

He raises his blaster.

“No!” Pershing cries, holding a hand up. “No, no, please!”

Overhead, the bio droid whirls, its sharp needle glinting in the light. Din tilts his aim up and shoots it down, sending it to the ground with sparks and a _crash._ The doctor flinches. Din turns and aims at Pershing again.

“No, please, don’t hurt him--it’s just a child,” Pershing pleads. Din walks over. “Please--no-- _no!_ Please!”

Din grabs him and shoves him aside, sending him sprawling to the ground to the ground against storage barrels. He keeps the blaster trained on him, then looks down at the kids--

There’s only one.

He sucks in a breath and stares at the kid. The monitor over him cycles through his biological status but he’s asleep, unmoving though he breathes. Din’s heart is in his throat. _Only one._ He can see the near invisible tear tracks on his cheeks. A surge of anger starting in his chest, he turns and puts the blaster on the doctor again.

“What did you do to it?” he snarls.

“I--I…”

“What did you do to it?” he demands. “Where’s the other one?”

“I protected him! I-I protected him, if it wasn’t for me they’d already be dead! Please…”

Din scowls. “Where. Is. The other?”

But the doctor isn’t forthcoming, more a pitiful mess on the floor than any help, and Din can’t waste time. Instead he snatches the kid off the bed and darts out of the room, mind racing. He has to find the other kid. _If he’s still alive._

The thought sends cold chills down his body, clashing with the fire of his rage, and only morphs into further guilt in his stomach. One target is necessary. The other is insurance, a spare. If they have powers, why keep two around when they could turn on their captors? Why take the risk?

Din keeps his guard up as he moves but spares a glance at the kid, a worse feeling beginning. They were _separated._ He thinks of Arvala-7 and the desperate screams when they’d only been separated by mere inches, how they’d constantly held hands to ensure they were together. He sees the tear tracks on the kids face and wonders how much effort it took to separate him from his brother. He wonders if he was drugged not just for the procedure but to stop his screams, too.

Din feels like he might vomit from that imagery.

He’s going to find the other, warm or cold.

The longer he stays in the building, the more danger they’re both in. He checks room after room but they’re all empty. He slips and steps out of the way and behind objects as stormtroopers march past, searching for him, but he doesn’t know the layout.

Room after room, all empty. His chest is feeling tighter and tighter. The possibility that the other twin is dead feels more and more realistic, even though the thought makes him feel light-headed. His hold on the kid tightens. _He can’t be, he can’t be._ He can’t be forgiven for that. There _is no_ forgiveness for that. If one of them was sacrificed and the other near tortured, after _he_ delivered them to the Imps--

He breaks through another door, steps inside, and immediately dodges a blaster bolt. He throws up his gun and shoots down a trooper, then spots the little bundle resting in the small chamber bed. The twin is tiny in the small pod. Din walks over and reaches for him.

Immediately, the kid in his arms makes the tiniest of whimpers. The kid on the best makes a similar sound, more squeaky, before his eyes nudge open and he looks at Din with slitted eyelids. Din gives him the smallest shoulder caress before scooping him up, too.

“Shh, _adike,”_ he murmurs.

He has to adjust them in his arms, but he manages to hold them both with just one. He has to keep them tucked against his cuirass, his hold tight. Good enough. Raising his blaster, he begins to make his way through the hallways.

They go silent again, unmoving in his hold.

He takes down two more troopers, electrocutes a third. He moves through another hallway. One trooper steps out but Din shoots first; the door behind him opens and he dodges another shot. He whips around and releases a cloud of fire. The trooper screams as he’s engulfed in flame and roasted. When he drops to the floor, Din walks past.

He walks straight into the meeting room. He lets out a breath of relief, heading for the door, but it slides open for two troopers to step out instead. Din freezes and holds up his blaster. Two more come from the other door and he huffs. _Fuck._

“Drop the blaster!”

“Wait,” he says. “... What I’m holding is very valuable.” He crouches down to the ground and slowly places his blaster down. Then he eases one twin to the ground, and the other, partially beneath him as protection.

“Stand up and face me!”

Din flicks his wrist. The whistling birds light up. Taking a deep breath, he lowers his head and lets them fire.

 _Whistling_ is a good description as the tiny missiles attack the troopers, killing them in an instant. Din waits until the room has gone silent. Then, he scoops up the kids and his blaster, making a dash for the door.

He’s nearly fucking _there_ when the hunters begin to crawl out.

He hears the beeping of the fobs before he sees the hunters and his blood runs cold though he doesn’t stop. He’s on the main street and he can see the _Razor Crest_ from here. But the beeps increase.

They surround him.

His hand hovers by his blaster.

“Welcome back, Mando,” Karga says, blaster in hand and an edge in his voice. “Put the package down.”

“Step aside,” Din says. “I’m going to my ship.”

“You put the bounty down, and perhaps I’ll let you past.”

“The kids are coming with me.”

“If you truly _care_ about the kids, then you’ll put them on the speeder.” Din looks towards the speeder, pulled by a droid. It beeps at him. “And we’ll discuss terms.”

Din looks back at Karga. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Because I’m your only hope.”

Din stares at him, but he turns and walks to the speeder, steps slow. He glances down at the kids, wrapped up tight, and stares at their faces. Both have their eyes shut, breathing softly, until one opens their eyes and stares at him. His eyes are black as night. A tiny coo escapes.

His heart is pounding still.

_An oath._

He whips out his blaster and fires a shot at the nearest hunter.

The street explodes into chaos. Din throws himself up and into the speeder, managing another shot, before shooting again and again. He’s on his back before he twists over, settling the children down, before hissing at the droid with his blaster aimed. “Drive. Drive!”

Shots are fired, but they all miss overhead as they travel down the street. Din lifts his arm and manages to take out several more. They’re almost there, almost close enough to leap out of the speeder and just make a run for it.

But a shot fries the droid and they stop. Din swears beneath his breath. _Damn it._

Instead, he pulls out his rifle.

He put it together himself over time, managing to get the pieces and tech needed to create the weapon he wanted. It took effort and patience and no shortage of being discreet about the sort of weapon he was building. But it’s saved his life several times over and it saves them now, blasting several hunters into sparks and hypercharged matter. He reloads again and again, disintegrating as many hunters as he can see.

Finally, everyone is hidden, and he waits.

“That’s one impressive weapon!” Karga calls.

Din looks towards him. “Here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna walk to _my_ ship, _with_ the kids, and you’re going to let it happen.”

“No. How about this? _We_ take the kids, and if you try to stop us, we kill you and strip your body for parts!”

A hand grabs his leg and Din reacts immediately. He hisses and kicks out, then throws himself up and stabs the end of his rifle towards the hunter, shocking them. The gunfight starts up again and Din fires shots from his blaster as bolts race overhead. He drops his blaster for his flamethrower and shoots the fire from his vambrace. The hunters scream and back away, giving him room.

But it sputters out and Din gives it a few shakes before it’s good and dead. In an instant, the shots begin again. He swears beneath his breath and ducks down. His rifle and blaster are running out of ammo, his fire is out, his whistling birds are too few and too precious to try. 

He’s out of options.

Resigned anger brews in his chest and instead he crawls up in the speeder, placing his forearms on either side of the twins. He looks down at them, using his body as a shield, and just takes in the sight of their faces. One stares up at him with half-lidded eyes, making a small coo at the sight of his helmet. The other slowly opens his eyes, looking just as sleepy, and he stares at Din. He makes a gurgle.

Din takes a long, deep breath. He shifts his hands up and slowly caresses each one’s head, his touch gentle. Both close their eyes again before seeming to settle.

They’re done.

 _I’m sorry,_ he thinks. They’d be better off still on the dustbowl where he’d found them. _I’m so, so sorry._

Some part of him is ready to give up. He tried his best. He at least put a dent in the Empire’s plans and slowed them down. He leans down and gently touches his helmet to both their foreheads, taking deep breaths.

 _Is okay._ The thought whispers at the back of his mind. _Is okay._

It startles him, but it’s quickly distracted by the missile that whistles across the sky.

Din looks up as the blast hits a rooftop, throwing a hunter from it, and his heart stops. Mandalorians fly through the sky towards them, firing blasters and shooting charges. The hunters scream and fire back, but the Mandalorians touch down and continue to shoot, taking out hunters like they’re nothing.

At first, Din is breathless. He’s filled with utter relief before he finally lifts his blaster and begins to shoot, too. For several minutes, the tide changes completely. He turns and looks to see Paz and two others touch down on his other side, machine gun firing.

“Get out of here,” Paz says. “We’ll hold them off!”

“You’re going to have to relocate the covert,” Din says.

Paz looks at him. “This is the Way.”

Din swallows. “This is the Way.”

There’s a sense of guilt still lingering as he gathers his weapons and then the kids, holding them again in one arm as he sprints for his ship. The covert will have to move and finally stable lives will be upended. It makes his chest hurt to think about, but at this rate the choices have been made and there’s no going back.

He can’t deny that their rescue makes him feel nice warmth inside. That he’d caused offense and they’d still come to save him, without even knowing about the kids.

He approaches the _Razor Crest_ and walks up the ramp, putting his blaster aside as he heads in. _Thank the stars._ He walks straight for the ladder, his only thought being to just get off this damn planet.

“Hold it, Mando.”

Din stops. _Of course._ As the bundles in his arms start to squirm, he turns around to see Karga standing there, gun held out.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” Karga growls. “But then _you_ broke the code.”

Din watches him. He’s a quick draw but Karga’s already drawn and his own blaster is holstered. He instead spares a slight glance towards the carbon freezer beside him and makes a fist.

Karga watches him.

His cable hook shoots out and jams the freezer’s controls, sending steam spraying into the cargo hold as he ducks out of the way.

Karga fires immediately, wild shots into the blind, but Din just waits at the side until the bolts cease. As soon as they do, he steps out and takes aim. His shot has always been his best skill. In the Fighting Corps, he stood out for having exceptional aim, even when his size or strength wasn’t yet up to the standard expectation.

Even through the steam, he finds his mark.

As the _Razor Crest_ flies through the clouds, it’s still blissfully quiet. It’s not long, though, until there’s the soft patter of feet, little coos, and gurgles. They’re not loud but still present, finally shaking off whatever had them asleep. Din is relieved.

“Aaaah.”

Din turns and looks down. The two are standing beside the chair, looking up at him. Both hold their arms up. Din looks at them both, then reaches down and picks up one before the other. Both sit in his lap, blinking up at the console and all its lights.

Then, he sees movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turns to see Paz flying alongside the _Crest._ He looks at Din and gives a salute. Din nods, but he catches the twins’ eyes too and both pop up in Din’s lap. “Aaaah!” they shriek, throwing hands up in an attempt at waving.

Paz gives a wave. Then he makes a sign. It’s hard to see from far away, but Din can make out the signing. _Foundlings?_

Din lifts his hands and makes signs in response. _Bounty. Brothers. Saved._

Paz nods. Din nods back. Then, Paz falls away, back towards the planet’s surface. Din turns back to the front and takes a deep breath. The two boys settle again, but it’s less than a minute before one is starting to crawl onto the dash, reaching for the shiny metal ball again.

Din looks at them. Then he reaches out and unscrews the ball, dropping it into the kid’s hands. The kid makes a delighted noise. He then slips out of Din’s lap and back to the floor, where he sits and begins to make it float above his hands. Din looks down to watch a moment.

He has _no idea_ what the hell it is.

But the kid looks delighted to toss the ball up and down without ever touching it, and Din needs to fly. He glances down at the second one, still in his lap, expecting him to go join the other. But the kid just looks up at Din, then turns himself and sits in the center of his lap, looking up at the clouds instead.

Din can’t help a smile. He gives the kid a slight caress to his ear, then grips the joysticks again. “Let’s go,” he says.

They lift out of the atmosphere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Demagolka - someone who commits atrocities, a war criminal, a real-life monster. Named after an Old Republic Mando scientist who experimented on children. A figure of hate and fear.  
> Ad'ika - little one/son/daughter  
> Adike - plural of ad'ika
> 
> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)


	4. The Safe Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din turns, expecting trouble, but instead the two boys are stumbling away from a rather miffed-looking loth cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our trio lands on a lil backwater planet for safety.
> 
> Details of Din's childhood with the Mandalorians are taken from my oneshot [A Path for the Weary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389330). It's definitely not required reading to understand anything, but if you're interested, that fic goes further into my ideas for Din's raising and the relationship he had with his adopted father.
> 
> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

Din knows how to nurture.

No one looks at Mandalorians, often silent and brooding, quicker to a blaster than negotiations, and thinks they’re a nurturing people. They don’t expect the fiercest of their warriors to still get on the floor with small children to play, for there to be an entire chain of designated people to look after a child when their guardian marches on, for children to be so highly prized.

Din experienced it himself upon his integration into the Mandalorians. Warriors are forged by fire, and the training reflects it, but not without a nurturing community to teach them. His fondest memories are with his father, who embodied that principle. Or the moments of begging his clan’s strongest warriors -- most of all, his own  _ ba’buir  _ \-- to put aside their weapons and tell him stories about their missions.

So he  _ knows _ things. Some in theory, others in practiced. He knows how to lull foundlings to sleep. He knows how to change soiled clothing, how to prepare food, and how to entertain. He’s returned to the covert for days at a time, where the communal childcare is expected of everyone regardless of your station.

They flee from Nevarro with haste, heading straight into the stars with no other location objective. The two children are awake for a few hours and are hyperenergetic -- Din gets up a dozen times to entertain their game of hide-and-seek. But soon, they tire themselves out, and Din is relieved to tuck them into his bed and turn off the lights for a couple blissful hours.

_ I can do this,  _ he thinks. He’s been taught to be able to care for a foundling if he ever had to. He hasn’t done this on his own, but this is short term, anyway. Once he finds a safe place for them, someone else can take the two and give them a good life. Din just needs to get them to that place.

He’s looking for such a destination when the kids wake up. He can hear them wander back into the cockpit to look for him and a  _ coo  _ signals that they want up. He indulges both. One kid immediately climbs up onto the dash to look out the transparisteel while the other, his tunic littered with the tiny patch jobs, snuggles down into Din’s lap.

They’re quiet. Still a little sleepy. Their company can be nice, if only to fill the void of silence that usually follows him. He doesn’t mind.

He takes the controls, adjusts their course a little. The kid in his lap reaches up, patting at his vambrace. Din drifts a hand down lets him grab a finger to hold, then pulls it away after a few seconds.

Then there’s a distinctive  _ whoosh _ and he looks up to see the other kid pulling back from a button, looking around. Din reaches to the other side and flicks two switches. After a few seconds, the kid reaches out and presses it again.

“Stop touching things,” Din says.

The kid turns to look at him, then turns back but seems  _ somewhat  _ uninterested now. The boy in his lap giggles. Din focuses on what’s ahead -- then notices the kid leaning in to press again,  _ staring him down. _

Another button is pushed and the ship begins to shake. Din reaches out to hit it again immediately and picks the kid up, bringing him over to his other side, and the kid coos. His brother giggles again.

“Let’s see,” he mutters, bringing up the scanners. He keeps one hand on the controls. “Sorgan. There’s no starport, no industrial centers, no population density. A real backwater skughole. Which means it’s perfect for us.” He looks at the kid in his arm, who squeaks at him, and then the one in his lap, who makes a coo. “Ready to lay low and stretch your legs for a couple of months, you little womp rats? Nobody is going to find us here.”

The kids only gurgle. Sorgan isn’t far -- its surface is blue and green, cloudy, full of life. It has a human-sufficient atmosphere, normal surface temperature, perfectly livable. No visual sign of civilization. He’s satisfied as they enter the atmosphere.

The surface is covered in trees and grass clearings with gaps between for large ponds and lakes. When he sees a grouping of small buildings in the distance, brown huts with smoke rising from around the outside, he aims for a space nearby. A village or small town is perfect to start with. He can get food for the kids and find information like lodging or work.

The ship touches down in a clearing, a path leading ahead in the direction of the village. As the  _ Razor Crest  _ settles, Din begins to turn off the ship’s systems and shut it all down. Then he looks down and sees one kid trying to climb onto the dash, the other grabbing the joystick in front of him. He pries the hands off the joystick and scoops the other up, earning a squeal from both.

“Now listen,” he says. “I’m gonna go out there and look around. It shouldn’t take long.” He turns and stands up, placing them both down in the chair before back away. “Now -- don’t touch  _ anything.  _ I’ll find us some lodging and I’ll come back for you both.  _ You  _ stay  _ right here.  _ You  _ stay.  _ Don’t move. You understand?”

They stare up at him with big eyes, heads tilting. Their hands grip together. It’s the best answer he’ll get.

“Great,” he says.

He walks out of the cockpit and down to the cargo hold. Checking that he has his blaster, he reaches out and opens the hatch. He stands ready as it lowers, letting light into the otherwise dark ship.

“Aaaah…”

Din turns and looks down. The twins are standing at his side, hands held and looking up at him with excited expressions.

Din stares, then sighs. “Oh, what the hell,” he says. “Come on.”

He begins to walk. The kids toddle after him, and though his normal steps are massive compared to their biggest ones, he strolls along the path rather than really walking. They manage to keep just behind him, though at a faster pace, and they approach the village. Already, the smell of cooked food drifts towards them, and the twins begin to babble more excitedly. Din glances to be sure they’re following before entering the main hut.

It’s a sort of casual restaurant or diner, about halfway full though not crowded. Din looks for an empty table away from others, trusting that the little ones are following. He gets a few glances, but they’re the innocent sort that he’s already used to. The armor stands out anywhere.

“AAH!”

Din turns, expecting trouble, but instead the two boys are stumbling away from a rather miffed-looking loth cat. He lets out a breath and keeps walking, but there’s another whimper and a distressed “aaah!” He looks down to see one kid running to his side, holding his arms up with a frightened expression. Din looks for the other one, but he’s following along, not as afraid.

Din takes the kid up and into his arms, cradling him in his elbow. “You’re fine,” he murmurs.  _ “Morut’yc.” _

The kid snuggles against his cuirass.

He walks to a table and tries to put the kid down on the stool, but he whines and clings to Din instead. With a hand to hold him steady, Din reaches for the other kid and brings him up onto the stool, where he sits and looks around, much more interested in their surroundings. Din takes the seat directly beside him, keeping them close lest screaming be a possibility. Both seem content with it, cooing at each other.

Din’s gaze is drawn elsewhere. He looks up and across the way, sees a woman wearing black, leaning back against a pole at her own table. Din feels a moment of unsettledness, but his thoughts on it are interrupted by a woman walking over, wiping her hands on a rag.

“Welcome, travellers,” she says. She looks at Din, then the kids, with a friendly smile. “Can I interest you in anything?”

“Bone broth, for the little ones,” he says.

“Oh, well, you’re in luck,” she says, and it’s a simple social interaction but enough for Din to feel uneasy in his responses. The  _ adike  _ both coo and gurgle absentmindedly. “... There’s plenty. Can I interest you in some broth as well?”

“Just the one,” he says. The kid in his arms begins to squirm, pulling on Din’s sleeve to go higher. He burrows into the warmth between Din’s arm and side -- and Din nearly huffs, any intimidation surely ruined by the kid’s clinginess.

“Very well--”

“That one, over there,” Din says. She stops, then looks towards the woman. “When did she arrive?”

“I… have seen her around here the last week or so,” the woman says, sounding uncertain.

“What’s her business here?”

“Business? Oh, well, there’s not much business in  _ Sorgan,”  _ she says with a nervous laugh, “so I can’t sa…” But Din tosses credits across the table and the laugh fades. “... Doesn’t strike me as a log runner -- thank you, sir! I will get that broth to you as soon as possible and… I will throw in a flagon of spotchka, just for good measure! I will be  _ right  _ back with that.”

_ Sure,  _ Din thinks as she turns away. The other kid is starting to climb onto the table, and Din gives him a glance. But then he looks up again and the woman is gone. He tightens his jaw, sent into high alert, and he gets up from the table in an instant. He puts the kid beside his brother on the chair, then walks off. “Keep on eye on the kids,” he says to the server, tossing her another credit.

“Yes… sir,” she says, looking uncertain. But he’s already moving.

Their guardian disappears and they watch him go with flattened ears.

One begins to whimper straight away, his emotions projected like a hologram.  _ Sad sad alone no no sad now alone  _ comes off in waves as he watches where their protector disappeared from.

His brother grabs his hand and for a moment, they look at each other.  _ Is okay is okay all okay. Safe safe warm happy.  _ Their hands squeeze with all the strength they can manage and though tears threaten to fall, the boy smiles and coos at his brother.  _ Yes safe. Yes happy. Yes yes. Together together together safe. _

Soon after, the nice woman from before returns with two bowls that smell  _ wonderful,  _ and their missing guardian is forgotten in an instant as they both clamber onto the table to reach. She says something to them, smiling, and they don’t understand the words but they can feel her kindness in the Force. She leaves again but the two are both taking their bowls and beginning to drink as much of the broth as they can.

But then there’s a  _ shift  _ and then  _ bad bad might be bad danger in danger. _

They both look at each other again and then towards the wall of the building. The sounds are inaudible but they  _ know  _ something is happening. His brother moves first, lifting his bowl into the air with the Force so he can climb down into the chair, then to the floor. The bowl floats to him. The other boy copies it and both are on the floor now, bowls held, and they huddle together under the table.

The nice woman is watching them, they know. Their guardian told her to. But she hasn’t noticed that they got down and they need to  _ sneak  _ to get to their guardian. So they hold their bowls and watch her and when she walks away to another table, they take their chance. They dash across the floor, holding their bowls as best they can, until they’re through the doorway and out in the fresh air.

They like fresh air. For a moment, they stop to take it in. It’s so much nicer and brighter than their old home. Old home was dark and small. This is a lot better.

But now they can hear noises, grunts and shouts that sound angry, and they walk towards it side by side. There’s emotions shooting from around the hut, and as they walk over, their guardian and a woman come into sight -- one on top of the other. The emotions are strong but shared.  _ Stress fear anxiety fear fear nervous afraid unsure don’t know maybe threat not threat stress fear  _ are coming from both of them.

It puts them at ease. They’re both afraid, and being afraid is bad, and they won’t be afraid once they stop fighting. So they both stand to the side and watch, sipping their broth. The lady flips their guardian over and they both roll, stopping with things pointed at each other.

The boys simply continue to drink.

The two are panting for breath when they look over, staring at the kids, and his brother makes a chirp. They look at the two adults, and one tilts his head while the other sips again.

The guardian looks at the lady.  _ Fear pain anger  _ turns into  _ calm better now tired hungry.  _ He asks her a question. The emotions are calm now.

Just as they’d thought.

Din has sympathy for the ex shock trooper. He knows all too well the feeling of your circumstances turning on you, your expectations and hopes turning around and into nothing. So he’s willing to pack the twins up into the ship and find somewhere else. The galaxy is wide and there’s more options ahead of them.

The  _ Crest  _ needs some repairs, so they’ll stay the night and give Din the time to make the adjustments needed. He starts while the sun is still up, but the kids whine for his attention. He ignores them at first, opening panels on the side of the ship to access the wiring. They whimper and cry and grab at his feet for attention, but he only places them inside the ship again and again. There’s a brief stop for dinner, Din feeding the two and then sending them outside so he can have his own meal. Then it’s outside to keep working.

Eventually, they find the metal ball.  _ Good.  _ They’ll play with that.

The sun begins to set. Din has lights and lanterns set up, his tools resting on the inside of the ship. The sunset casts a brilliant glow over the trees and the kids are wandering the area, tossing the ball and picking up sticks. Din gives them a glance, but they’re not inclined to wander.

Then, something  _ clacks  _ against his pauldron and he turns on his heel.

The kids burst into small giggles and Din sees them crouching in the grass as though hiding. He looks down at the metal ball, then picks it up and tosses it in their direction. It hits the ground and rolls towards them. “Aim better,” he says.

He turns back to the ship and grabs another tool to tighten inner bolts. He reaches up, then winces when something hits the side of his helmet with another  _ clack.  _ He takes a step to keep his balance, then sighs and looks again at the metal ball. “Stop,” he says, looking towards the kids.  _ “Nu copikla, adike.” _

Their ears perk up. Din tosses it back to them again. This time it’s caught in the air and he stops to look.

Then it’s launched straight back at him.

Din nearly yelps but manages to both duck his head and throw his hands up to catch the ball, a sharp pain dulling in his hands at the force behind the ball. He stares at it, then them, and hesitantly throws it back.

There’s a shriek of laughter and the ball is caught. It’s thrown back to him, this time more gently. He tosses it again. They go back in for a few minutes, the boys alternating who catches, before Din just holds the ball. “Enough,” he says. “Bed.”

The sun is nearly gone and he needs to set up more lights to see. The kids whine and pout but trudge towards the ship when he calls. He scoops them both up, then walks into the ship and towards the ladder. Upstairs, he puts them into the bed. They stare up at him with big eyes but make no escape attempts.

_ “Nuhoy,”  _ he murmurs.

He turns away, but he’s met with another whimper. He turns and one child is holding his arms out, squirming. Din steps back over and kneels down beside the bed, giving his hand, but the boy refuses it and eventually reaches up, patting his own forehead as best as he can manage.

It’s a jolt in Din’s chest. He didn’t think they were conscious enough for the Keldabe kiss. But now it’s  _ demanded. _

For a moment, he only hesitates. It’s an intimate gesture and  _ no, don’t get attached.  _ But both kids are staring at him with pleading eyes and he lets out a sigh, leaning over. They both press against each other and he leans down, pressing the forehead of his helmet to both of theirs. Their eyes fall shut and they both make satisfied little trills. After a few seconds, he pulls away. They blink up at him, but he smooths the blanket over them and they snuggle down, closing their eyes.

He gets up and leaves without further distraction.

He grabs a utility lamp from storage and pulls it outside with him. The ship has external flood lights but more light on a backwater planet like this is more helpful. The sun has set and stars drift across the sky. Ensuring that he has his tools, he begins his work again, this time with significantly fewer distractions.

But he’s only working for ten minutes or so when a droid transport approaches, then cautious footsteps.

“Excuse me?”

Din ignores it, replacing an internal panel. He screws the bolt in place.

“Excuse me, sir?”

He sighs and ducks beneath the ship’s wing, coming out on the other side. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I, yeah, uh--” There’s two of them, nervous, unthreatening as they follow him. “Raiders.”

“We have money.”

“So you think I’m some kind of mercenary.” He moves things aside.

“You  _ are  _ a Mandalorian, right?” Part of him scoffs. 

“Or at least w-wearing Mandalorian armor -- that  _ is  _ Mandalorian armor, right?”

He begins to walk away from the wing and back around. “It is.”

“See? I told him! Sir, I’ve read a lot about your people, uh, uh -- tribe? If half of what I read is true--”

The other shoves past him. “We have money,” he says.

Din doesn’t turn, arms reached into the ship again. “How much.”

“It’s everything we have, sir. Our whole harvest was stolen.”

“Krill. We’re -- krill farmers.”

“We brew spotchka -- our whole village chipped in.”

Din turns and looks at the pouch of credits held in the farmer’s hand. Protecting a village against raiders is asking for trouble, the sort of trouble he’s trying to avoid. It’s too much effort for a former hunter trying to hide two children with bounties on their heads. The time, the ammo, the potential risk. He shakes his head and turns away. “It’s not enough.”

Immediately, he’s followed. “Are you sure -- you don’t even know what the job is!”

“I know it’s not enough.” It’s not nearly enough. A single hunt could make him more than what their offer is. He walks to the side door. “Good luck.”

“This is everything we have, we’ll -- give you more after the next harvest!”

There’s a loud  _ hiss  _ and crack as steam bursts from the ship, the door opening and ramp lowering. The farmers stumble away from him, startled, and he walks around to start up the ramp.

“Come on,” one breathes, sounding resigned. “Let’s head back.”

“... Took us the whole day to get here,” the other grumbles. “Now we have to ride back. With no protection. To the middle of nowhere!”

Din’s nearly in the ship when he stops and turns.  _ Nowhere.  _ “Where do you live?” he demands.

They turn back. “On a farm! Weren’t you listening? We’re farmers.”

“In the middle of nowhere.”

“... Yes.”

“You have lodging.”

That makes them lighten up, turning back more fully. “Y-Yeah. Absolutely.”

_ Perfect.  _ A village that chips together money less than a bounty is small, remote, secluded. A farm is on open land, population small, enough for the kids to run around but to remain hidden. “Good,” he says. “Come up and help.”

They’re not the strongest, so Din takes the heaviest containers of food and ammo himself while the two take the smaller ones. Once the heavier items are loaded, he stops and looks up towards the bedroom where it sits on the ship. He gives a glance towards the farmers before he heads up.

The children are asleep where he left them, stirring when his footsteps approach. He drags the blanket up and wraps that around them before he scoops them into his arms in a bundle. He’s given sleepy trills and coos, little faces snuggling further into the blanket, and he’s careful as he goes back down the ladder. By the time he’s walking down the ramp, both are blinking awake.

The farmers turn and stare at them. Din can see the questions in their eyes. But they don’t voice them, and instead Din settles the two in the transport between boxes, the blanket tucked in around them. They coo at him, still blinking sleep away.  _ “Nuhoy,”  _ he murmurs, giving both a quick brush over the head from his hand before walking back to the ship.

Once the boxes are all loaded, the kids watching, he sets the last one down. “I’m going to need one more thing,” he says. “Give me those credits.”

Finding Dune isn’t difficult. It’s natural that she’s still hanging around the village, and once Din finds a fire, it’s simple. He tosses the bag of credits in front of her and her gun cocks up at him.

“Ready for round two?” he asks.

She eyes him with pursed lips.

“So we’re basically running off a pack of raiders for lunch money?”

The transport is slow moving, the stars twinkling above. 

“They’re quartering us in the middle of nowhere,” Din says, glancing towards the kids. “Last I checked, that’s a pretty square deal for someone in your position. Worst case scenario, you tune up your blaster. Best case, we’re a deterrent.” He smiles. “Can’t imagine there’s anything living in these trees that an ex-shock trooper couldn’t handle.”

Cara gives him a  _ look  _ like she knows to not be baited. He leans back over the side of the transport in a display of relaxation. She rolls her eyes with a smile. At the other end of the transport, the kids coo, then both lay down too and stare at the stars. Din smiles again.

Cara looks towards them. “This is for their benefit?” she says, her voice lowered. “To protect them?”

“... They’re hunted,” he says. He’ll trust her with that knowledge -- Cara is a disillusioned ex-soldier, not a desperate nobody. She’s as wary of hunters as he is. “We need a place to lay low.”

Cara nods and shifts where she lays. “And this might be the place,” she says.

Din looks down the darkened path. “This might be the place,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Ba'buir - grandfather/grandmother  
> Morut'yc - safe, secure  
> Adike - little ones/sons/daughters  
> Nu copikla - not cute  
> Nuhoy - sleep
> 
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	5. The Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry,” she says.
> 
> “This is the Way,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at the village.
> 
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> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

It isn’t the most comfortable in the transport, but it isn’t long before Cara is asleep and Din is drifting off, too. He finds himself waking a few times, the stars still moving, but there’s a gurgle and he looks down to see one kid curled up by his hip, tucking against the warmth of his body there. He drifts off again. The next time he wakes, there’s a matching child on his other side.

He doesn’t attempt to move them.

When he wakes again, it’s morning and the transport has stopped. He blinks at the bright light, his visor adjusting on its own in response to the sun, and the first thing he hears is laughing and children calling out. He turns and looks over.

The village is small, its farm spread out around the buildings in the form of krill ponds. Adults are already in the ponds to gather and work, but a group of children comes running between the ponds to come meet them. Adults follow. The two kids have disappeared from Din’s sides and are at the side of the transport. The village children come to the transport, immediately crowding around the two kids with adoring expressions.

“Well,” Din says. “Looks like they’re happy to see us.”

“Looks like,” Cara says with a smile.

The twins coo at the children, surely earning their love on the spot, as Din and Cara begin to get out of the transport and take their things. It’s not a terrible amount of possessions to carry, but his weapons and ammo need to be stored somewhere. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he helps take the containers off and hand them to people.

His array of weapons are worth an enormous amount just on firepower alone, but he doubts these villagers would even know _how_ to damage them, much less manage to do so.

Unloading is a brief affair, and soon the children are being shooed away by their parents to let the Mandalorian and his boys settle. Something stirs in his chest at the twins being referred to as _his boys,_ but he’s glad to have the distractions taken away so the kids can listen to him. He lifts them out of the transport and sets them on the ground so he can carry a chest of his personal belongings. With his rifle strapped to his back, he calls them over before they can wander. “Come on, _adike.”_

They’re happy to run forward. Din glances towards the krill pond and makes note that he’ll have to be sure the twins stay away from them. He doubts they even have the capability to swim, much less already know how. He follows them down the dirt path towards the huts and they soon stop to look at him for directions. He walks on, now with them following behind.

They’re directed towards the barn - the biggest space they can offer, though it isn’t much. Din doesn’t mind, and he’s sure the kids couldn’t care less as long as they have a roof, food and space to play. He walks towards it, the kids trailing, but stops at the doorway. He can see someone inside -- a woman -- and it’s not his space to enter.

She looks at him, tying a window’s shade string to a pole. “Please, come in,” she says. Din ducks in, getting his rifle through the doorway, and walks inside. “I hope this is comfortable for you. I’m sorry that all we have is the barn.”

Din places the container down. “This will do fine,” he says. He takes off his rifle, the clip clattering against his armor. The kids wander in to begin exploring, disappearing behind a crate.

“I stacked some blankets over here,” she says, her voice gentle. 

Din settles his rifle down. “Thank you. That’s… very kind,” he says. He gives a glance towards the kids, who are tapping their hands against the storage barrels. Their hands are gripped together, both babbling nonsense words. He sits and reaches for his vambrace.

Then hears a creak and he whips around, standing, a hand going for his blaster. A small shadow gasps and steps back, hiding around the doorway. The woman looks between them, then steps out and takes hold of the shadow’s arm, pulling a young girl into her arms and into view. The girl stares at him, a mix of curiosity and fear on her face.

“This is my daughter, Winta,” she says. “We don’t get a lot of visitors around here." She looks at Winta, then at Din, stroking her hair. “She’s not used to strangers.”

Din stays tense, unmoving.

“This nice man is going to help protect us from the bad ones,” the woman says. 

Winta still has her cheek pressed against her mother, but looks at Din. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Din nods. At his feet, he can hear the kids coo and gurgle. His hand twitches.

“Come on, Winta,” the woman says. “Let’s give our guest some room.” She gives Din a smile, then takes Winta’s hand and they walk away.

Din takes deep breaths, then looks down as there are small pats against his boots. The kids both stare up at him and lift their arms. He bends down and scoops them up into his arms and they both burrow against him, making soft noises almost like purrs. After a moment, he lays down on the cot and lets them sit on his cuirass. Their weight is almost nothing for two children and they pat against his beskar. One sits square on his chest, reaching out to pat against his helmet’s edge. The other crawls to his belly and rests instead on his gambeson.

“What do you think?” he says. They both look at him, heads tilted. “Seem like home?”

They make their own little coos. The one on his chest shuffles closer, planting his hands against the edge of Din’s helmet.

 _“Riye,”_ Din murmurs. The kid looks up at him with big eyes and a smile. He can’t help his own smile; both kids are staring at him. The other one begins to crawl over onto Din’s chest. “... You like Mando’a? _Taylir. Tome. Ulyc.”_

They’re nonsense words, random things that just come to mind. But the kids’ ears react like every word is amazing, their expressions lit up. They squeal and giggle.

Din smiles. _“Adike,”_ he says. “Little ones. _Adike,_ you.” He lifts a hand and taps one both of them. _“Adike_ means you two.”

They laugh again like it’s the most wonderful thing in the world and launch straight into toddler babble and cooing, one grabbing his finger to hold. The other falls quiet though and instead replaces his hands on the edge of Din’s helmet. Then they slide lower and little fingers touch the exposed underside of his jaw. Startled by the touch, Din grabs the kid with one hand, but does nothing else. “Careful,” is all he says.

Being touched on his skin is... unsettling.

“Aaah,” the kid coos, and his hands disappear. Din lets out a breath. Instead the hands touch the edge of his helmet. The boys coo, then turn and share a look with each other. Din frowns.

Then the other kid reaches up and touches the rim, both giving a push.

 _“Hey,”_ Din snaps, a hand shooting up to take hold of the helmet and pull it down. They barely had the strength to make it move, no more than a centimeter up, but he sits up and grabs them by the back of their robes. They make sad squeaks as he puts them aside on the cot. His heart pounds in his chest and he stands up. They stare at him, both with sad eyes.

“Find something to play with,” he says before turning away to unpack.

_Too attached._

It takes him time to calm down. He’s not nearly as upset with them as he is with himself, and after a short while of unpacking their things, his bad mood begins to dissipate. He shouldn’t let himself be attached to the kids when they’re not safe with him. A life with him is never going to be what’s best for them. So once he’s done, and he’s assured himself that everything is fine, his mood is better.

Since his rebuke, the boys sat in place, just watching him with occasional soft coos. But once he’s calmer, they begin to crawl up and to the edge of the cot. They continue to stare at him, and he lets out a breath before he walks over and crouches down in front of them. “You can’t do that,” he says, his voice soft. He isn’t sure how much they understand. “I have to keep this on. I can’t take it off in front of anyone, not even you.”

They aren’t his children, just his charges. They make a sad coo each. He lets out a sigh, then gives each a small rub at the tips of their ears. They both trill at that and seem to brighten as though the bad mood has passed. “Don’t touch the helmet,” he says before he brings them both into his arm and stands. They gurgle and squirm. There’s a crib placed in the barn and he sets them down inside it. “Stay.”

They both crowd against the side of the crib, but there are no escape attempts. They simply watch him. Satisfied, he turns and picks up his rifle, planting it on the floor to examine its operational end when there’s a soft voice from outside. “Knock knock.”

“Come in,” he says.

After a moment, the woman -- Omera -- walks in with a tray of food, giving him a light smile before setting it down. He takes the end off the rifle, grabbing a cloth to clean it. Footsteps come running in and then to a quick stop -- Winta, he assumes, his back turned. The twins coo. Then, Winta asks in a soft voice, “Can I feed them?”

Din turns to look at her. “Sure,” he says. Winta smiles, then walks to the crib and drops to her knees, bits of food in her hands. Din looks to his parts, but then glances over to watch.

“Are you hungry?” She holds the food up to one, who eagerly opens his mouth. She gives the food to him and she laughs before giving a piece to the other. Both babies munch on the food. Then she looks up at Din. “Can I play with them?”

Din lets out a breath, then places the shock piece down. “... Sure.” He steps over and picks up one child, then the other, placing them both on the ground with care. He can feel Omera’s eyes on him as the boys grab hands.

Winta smiles. “Come on!” she says, before running out of the barn. The twins move to follow, letting out shrieks as though calling for Winta to wait for them.

Din steps forward. “I don’t think--”

“They’ll be fine,” Omera says.

“I don’t--”

“They’ll be _fine,”_ she says with a smile, stepping more in front of him. Din looks at her, slowly takes a step back. He picks up his piece and cloth again. “... I brought you some food. I noticed you didn’t eat out there. I’ll leave it here for when I go.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” he says, before turning away. He walks back to the cot. It should be the end of the conversation, his way of cutting things off. The silence usually makes people leave. But he doesn’t hear her go.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?”

He pauses, hands still slowly cleaning. “Go ahead.”

“... How long has it been since you’ve taken that off?”

He doesn’t pause this time, not entirely caught off guard. “Yesterday,” he says. Yesterday for dinner. When he’d fed the kids and then sent them outside so he could eat too, so he could take the helmet off and stretch his neck and not feel the weight of his oath quite so much.

“I mean, in front of someone else.”

He puts the piece down. It isn’t accusatory or needling. It isn’t a rough _have you taken it off?_ from Paz, or a sickenly sweet _won’t you take it off for me?_ from Xi’an, or _what are you hiding?_ from another hunter. When Omera asks, it is kind. A question to understand rather than ridicule him.

He turns and steps up, looking at her, then turns his head and looks through the window. He lifts his hand and points to where the children are playing around the fire pit, laughing together. “I wasn’t… much older than they are,” he says.

She stares at the kid. Then at him. “You haven’t shown your face to anyone since you were a kid?”

He shakes his head. “No. I was… happy that they took me in. My parents were killed, and the Mandalorians took care of me.”

He’d lost one family but gained another. His birth parents are scared, blurred faces he can’t recall, replaced by both shining helmets and laughing faces of his clanmates. The Mandalorians tore him down to rebuild him stronger, tempered like beskar, and his father had guided him through it all with love and patience -- the savior who had pulled him from that bunker.

But he doesn’t know how to voice that to her.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“This is the Way,” he says. That response is much easier.

He’s starting to lose his father’s voice, anyway.

She just looks at him for a moment, as though still weighing what he’s told her, and just nods. “Let us know if there’s _anything_ you need,” she says. 

“Thank you.”

She nods, then turns and walks out. Din looks out through the window. The kids are playing together, laughing and giggling, the twins tiny and slow compared to the human children but trying just as hard to play. Omera walks over to Winta, both crouching at the ground, smiling down at the _adike._ Din takes the plate of food and places it on the window sill, then reaches up and removes his helmet.

He sets it down beside the plate.

A gentle breeze feels wonderful against his face. He takes a deep breath, watching the children, then smooths his hair from his eyes. It needs to be cut and he needs to shave. He reaches for the food and takes a bite.

_This might be the place._

The twins are so delighted by their new friends that slipping away to patrol with Cara seems simple. They’re surrounded by the children, being watched by multiple adults who look on fondly, with plenty of distractions until they return. Din doesn’t give any indication that he’s leaving, to avoid any dramatics.

But they’re not even to the krill ponds when there’s a shrieking noise.

Both turn. The kids are both staring at him, Winta and her toy forgotten. Quickly, they start to scamper over, making soft coos.

Din comes over and kneels down, catching them each with a hand to give a gentle push back. “No,” he says. “You’re not coming.”

They stare up at him. Then there’s tears brewing and they grab onto his hands, making little trills, ears flattened. Din feels an ache in his chest. He knows that the last time he left them, they’d been separated and put to sleep. It’s a broken trust.

“I know,” he whispers. He runs a thumb over the shell of their ears. “I know, _adike._ But I’m coming back.”

They look up, but the words seem to have an effect and as he pulls his hands away, they let him go. He stands up again, then turns and begins walking back to Cara, who only watches. There’s no squeaks or trills. They walk past the ponds. He glances over his shoulder.

The boys are still watching, but then Winta calls out and they turn around.

The pattern-seeking function of his helmet is on display on his HUD as they walk through the trees, scanning the dirt. The footprint patterns are lit up orange and red, pointing out whatever could be tracks. Cara walks ahead of him, more or less a guide as his gaze is pointed at the ground.

The footprints are steady until there’s a point where the ground is near covered in tracks. He stops and looks towards them. He presses on his controls, adjusting the vision, before looking up. “About 15 or 20 came through here on foot,” he says. His gaze drifts up towards the trees.

Broken branches. Not hacked off or chopped. The unevenness is highlighted on his HUD. “And something _big_ sheared off those branches.” The raiders can’t have normal footprints and be tall enough to snap branches by walking through. They move further into the trees, following the battered trees, then come to a crouch.

He doesn’t need the HUD to see the massive mechanical footprint in the dirt.

“AT-ST,” Cara says, both angry and resigned.

“Imperial walker.” He feels a shiver down his spine. “What’s it doing here?” There’s no reason for these raiders to be real Imps. They’re just mercs with stolen tech. But just the vague possibility puts him on edge.

“I don’t know,” Cara says. They begin to get up, looking down the path where the footprints continue. “... But this is more than I signed up for.”

When they return, the kids are the first to greet them, letting out happy squeals. The sun is starting to set, casting an orange tint to the light, and the kids make soft coos at him. But the AT-ST is a more pressing matter and he only gives them a small hand wave before they walk past.

Omera greets them next. “How was--”

“Gather everyone to the barn,” he says. She frowns and internally, he winces at himself. He doesn’t mean to come across as harsh. “... We need to talk.”

Omera just nods.

Five minutes later, they stand on the barn’s porch with the entire village gathered in front of them. Some are soaked from working, the kids are holding their toys, but they’re all silent and attentive when Din steps up. The twins are with Winta and Omera, one in each’s arms.

“Bad news,” he says. “You can’t live here anymore.”

There’s immediate confusion, the villagers staring at him or each other, discontent mutterings among them. Cara purses her lips. “Nice bedside manner,” she mutters.

“Think you can do better?” he says.

“... Can’t do much worse,” she says. He just nods and steps back for her, leaning back against the barn. She takes a step closer, looking out at the confused villagers. “I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.”

There’s only louder discontent. Din watches the twins; they’re looking around with big eyes as though sensing the emotions but not the reason. “You took the job!”

 _“That_ was before we knew about the AT-ST,” Cara says.

“What is _that?”_

“The armored walker with two enormous _guns_ that you knew about and didn’t tell us!”

Further arguments. No, they didn’t know, Din thinks. The display of ignorance about the walker is too genuine. It’s possible the raiders haven’t used the walker against the villagers. If the people rolled over for them, they wouldn’t have to use the mech at all.

“Please!”

“You have to help us.”

“You came to help.”

“Please…”

“Do something--”

“We have nowhere to go.” Omera’s voice drowns the others, looking at Cara with a sort of defiance, Winta held tight with one arm while the other cradles a twin at her waist.

“Sure you do,” Cara says. “This is a _big_ planet. I mean… I’ve seen a lot smaller.”

“My grandparents seeded these ponds!” 

“It took generations!”

Cara lets out a breath. “I understand,” she says. “I _do._ But there’s only two of us.”

Another round of grumbling. “No, there’s not -- there’s at least 20 here!”

“I mean _fighters._ Be realistic!”

Din watches and listens to the protests, the pleading to simply be taught.

“I’ve seen that thing take out entire companies of _soldiers_ in a matter of minutes,” Cara says, growing frustrated.

But Omera looks up at her. “We’re _not_ leaving,” she says, and her eyes glance towards Din as though asking for support. Din doesn’t move, but bites the inside of his cheek, thinking.

Cara frowns. “You _cannot_ fight that thing,” she says.

“Unless we show them how,” Din says.

The villagers burst into a mumbling of agreement. Cara looks back at him, her expression uncertain. But he just nods and straightens. “We’ll start tomorrow,” he says, voice clear and authoritative. He looks to Winta and Omera. Omera understands and walks over, placing one twin on the porch, while Winta copies. She takes Winta’s hand and leads her away.

Din turns and walks into the barn. Cara follows, the twins waddling in behind her. He begins to unclip his vambraces, letting his wrists roll and crack. After a moment, Cara lets out a huff.

“You really think we can teach these people to fight?” she asks.

Din looks back at her. “You think they can’t learn?”

“Anyone can learn to fight,” Cara says. “But these people -- they’re practically afraid of their own shadows and who knows when those raiders will decide to come back? The amount of work we’ll have to do is -- and against an AT-ST…”

“I’m not thinking about the mech,” Din says. The twins wander up to him and he scoops them up, sitting back on the bed to let them sit in his lap. They cuddle up against the softness of his gambeson. “I’m thinking just the raiders. If we can set up defenses and teach them to fight off the raiders, you and I can handle the mech. I have the firepower to arm everyone here.”

“... And they’re not going to expect resistance from here,” Cara says. She eyes him, then steps towards the door and looks out. “Train them to defend. The basics could work. You and I do the heavy lifting.”

Din lays back on the cot, propped up on his elbows as the _adike_ can crawl up to his chest. “Like you said, we can’t know when they plan to attack,” he says. “But the last one was to steal a whole harvest. I’d wager that they’re going to wait until they think there’s more to take. Unless we want to sit and wait…”

“We need to draw them out.” Cara looks at him. “Hit them hard, stir up the nest.”

“Make ourselves enough of a threat for them to pull out the mech.” Din watches as one kid tries to climb onto the beskar cuirass, but then makes a squeak and slides off, landing on the cot in a heap. He makes a grumble before getting up, simply watched by his brother. “There’s plenty of trees to cut and make into barricades. It’ll be difficult. And risky. But with only two trained fighters… we’ll have to make it work.”

“But it could work,” Cara says. “You’ve got the firepower. You’ll teach them to shoot?”

“I can,” Din says. The fallen child climbs up onto his leg to try again.

“I guess I’ll trust that,” Cara says, looking outside with a smirk. “Haven’t seen you shoot. You could be terrible.”

Din smiles. “I don’t miss,” he says.

Cara looks over. He wonders what kind of sight he is, a Mandalorian covered by two cooing alien children. But she just smiles, too. “Better not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Adike - little ones  
> Riye - favor, benefit, good turn  
> Taylir - hold, keep, preserve  
> Ulyc - careful, carefully
> 
> Kudos and comments are super helpful, y'all. They're always a highlight to read!
> 
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	6. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Behind him, Cara laughs, and the kids both stare up at him with pinched faces before the wails begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din and Cara discuss the plans for the attack and set it into motion. Apologies on the wait for this one! A time travel fic stole my attention away for a bit.
> 
> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
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He wonders if the boys napped while he was gone. It seems the only viable reason for their refusal to sleep. Cara leaves, the sun sets, and he makes sure his own weapons are cleaned and functional before the kids go in their crib. They coo at him but sit down. Satisfied, he takes off his pauldrons, belt, and bandolier, setting them aside.

He’s used to sleeping in full armor. It’s a hassle to get on and off. He hates sleeping with his helmet, though -- it leaves him with a stiff neck and discomfort, and on the ship he can take it off. But the kids could see him, someone could forget to knock. So he lies back and looks up at the ceiling, HUD clear of distractions. His mind is still racing with the next day’s plans for their defenses. Soon, he closes his eyes.

There’s cooing from the crib.

He ignores it.

Then there’s more coos, sounding more inquisitive, soft  _ eh?’s  _ released. “Go to sleep,” he says, and there’s a soft responding coo before silence. Outside, the torches crackle and the insects sing. Din lets his head roll to the side.

They move silently. He doesn’t hear them until claws are scrabbling at the edge of the cot, startling him. He jerks up and looks down at them, their little faces shadowed but eyes still reflective. They stare up at him, then coo and raise their arms.

Din lets out a sigh, then picks up one and the other. “Fine,” he says. “Just go to sleep.”

He sets them at his side and at first they simply stare at him. The rising moon reflects some light into the barn, enough to cast shadows, and their heads and ears are outlined with the light behind them. Their heads tilt and ears twitch and finally they get up and start to climb Din, crawling onto his sternum. Din grumbles and tries to ignore the tiny shifts of weight, closing his eyes.

“Aaah!”

He looks up. The boys are both staring at him. One pats his chest while the other crawls off and slides down to his other side, grabbing at Din’s hand. “Hey,” he says, pulling his hand back, and he’s immediately met with a wail. In an instant, he gives his hand back and the boy grabs his finger and thumb, pressing the side of his face into the warmth of Din’s palm. He makes a growl like a purr and Din just sighs.

“Sure,” he mumbles.

They’re content that way for a few minutes. Then, the other begins to crawl and slide off how chest to his other side. Din thinks he’ll lie down and sleep, but then he turns and looks across Din towards his brother and their gazes hold.

Din frowns. “What are you--”

Then the kid turns and jumps off the bed.

“Hey!”

The kid dashes for the door and Din leaps up. There’s shrieking laughter and the kids are shockingly  _ fast  _ when they want to be. The boy jumps off the edge of the porch but Din catches him in the air, letting out a shaky breath. “Stop it,” he says, voice stern, and the kid laughs.

Just as the second one goes running by.

_ Shit. _

The kids are both laughing, terribly loud in the otherwise quiet village, and Din swears beneath his breath as he tucks one under his arm and follows the other. The little thing is hard to follow in the dark shadows until Din hits his controls and his HUD turns to heat seeking. The huts and other objects are lit in dull blues but he’s quick to spot the red blob that’s tucked behind two baskets.

He pauses, then shoves his hand down and catches him by the collar of his robe. The kid pulls away with shrieking giggles but Din gives him a pull and gets a hold on him, bringing him up. “Enough,” he says, his voice firm. “That’s enough.”

Both kids break into whimpers and squirm around. “Aaaaaaah!” they wail, but Din just walks back into the barn. He goes straight to the crib and puts them down inside it, letting out a sigh.

“Go to sleep,” he says.  _ “I  _ have to sleep.”

The two tilt their heads, ears folded down.

_ “Sleep.” _

They coo.

Din grumbles.

He sits down again, this time keeping an eye on them, and they both stare at him with big eyes and mischievous smiles.

“You’re going to keep me up,” he says.

They tilt their heads.

He sighs. The barn has no door, but he gets up and grabs some of the barrels, starting to pull them over. They’re heavy, full of farming tools, but he drags them over in front of the door -- two fill the space. There’s a small gap at the bottom between, but not enough for either child to squeeze through. He covers the window too, blocking the light of the two moons, and the barn becomes darker.

A sad coo.

But they take the hint, and when Din lays down, he drifts off.

The next morning, he’s awoken by knocking. It jerks him out of sleep, pushing up off his stomach to stare at the pillow and then towards the door. “Come in,” he says.

Omera appears in the door, but looks down at the barrels, a plate in her hands. “Can’t really,” she says with a smile.

Din is off the bed in an instant, walking over. “Sorry,” he mutters, grabbing one and pulling it back. He tilts it to roll back into its spot, an embarrassed heat creeping into his skin. “They were trying to escape.”

Omera just smiles and nods, stepping into the barn. She looks to the crib -- the two are passed out, lying beside each other with heads tucked together. She places the plate down on the nearest table. Din turns away to begin putting his pauldrons back on.

“Do they have names?” she asks.

Din sits on the bed. He reaches up to his shoulder, then glances towards the twins. One begins to stir, making a coo as eyes blink open. “No,” he says. “Not that I know of.”

She frowns at that. The boy makes a gurgle, then stretches out before getting up. “You haven’t named your sons?”

Din frowns, too, and he opens his mouth to speak but doesn’t make a sound -- the helmet saves him that embarrassment. “They’re… not my sons,” he says. The child stands at the side of the crib, hands on the rail, looking between him and Omera with sleepy eyes. “They’re not mine. I’m just… protecting them.”

The baby coos. He makes a soft trill, lifting his arms as high as he can. Din only has one pauldron strapped on, but he stands and walks over. This one has the better coat, and trills again when he’s picked up, curling into Din’s chest. Din walks back to the bed and sets him in his lap, reaching for the other pauldron.

“And you don’t have anything to call them by?” Omera asks. “How do you tell them apart?”

“By the clothes,” Din says. When she frowns at him, he stops and shifts. “... They’re not mine to name.”

She doesn’t look content, but she nods. “I’ll leave breakfast for you,” she says.

Din nods, and she leaves.

The child is content to sit in his lap as Din readies himself. He pats his hands against his cuisses, smiling at the sound of his claws against the beskar, and Din rolls his head to pop his neck muscles. He’s given satisfying  _ crunches  _ on each side. The kid’s head jerks up to stare at him, ears perked.

“I’m fine,” Din says.

The kid doesn’t look convinced.

The other one begins to wake, making himself known when he stands and his claws scrabble against the wood of the crib. He mewls, tiny sounds full of demand, and his brother coos right back. Outside, he can hear the village waking up, and he stands with one in his arms before walking to the crib.

“Look,” he says. “I’m going to put a blanket over this, and you two need to stay under it. I need to eat and you can’t see me.”

They stare up at him.

Din puts the other in the crib, then reaches and grabs a blanket. He lets it fall open, then lays it over the crib; there’s confused and playful coos. Din steps back, watching. He’s almost about to reach for his helmet when the blanket is grabbed and dragged down, covering each twin but for an eye and ear poking out from each. They giggle at him.

“It’s not a game--” Din sighs, grabbing the frayed edge of the blanket. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

He pulls on it. But they don’t let go, giggling louder when they’re dragged. Din stops and grumbles. “Really?”

“Mando.”

Din stops and looks over at Cara’s voice. He hears her step onto the porch, but she doesn’t enter, waiting instead for an answer. He makes him stop for a moment, some part of him still surprised that no one here barges in.

In the Covert, they knocked. Knocked before entering any room when they weren’t completely sure that someone inside had their helmet on. It was an anxious practice, when some members were known to slip their helmets off for some relief from the weight. Din had true privacy when he was alone on his ship. No worries about losing his entire identity if someone walked in.

Running with Ran’s crew had been  _ that _ kind of hell.

But Cara waits now, courteous enough to announce her presence and wait. Like Omera does. Like the kids have done when they want to play with the boys. It’s odd to get that courtesy from someone outside of his tribe when he’s used to both accidental and malicious invasions.

“I’m fine,” he says.

She comes in, then, taking just one step into the doorway, and nods to him. He nods back. He turns his gaze to the twins again, who are tugging on the blanket for playtime.

“I was thinking more about our plan,” she says. “If we--”

“Wait.” Again, he winces at himself. “I… can’t eat with them. Could you…” he pauses. She stares at him. “Could you just… stand outside for them? For a bit? And talk to me from there.”

The kids stare at her, cooing. She looks back at them, then at him. “I’m not a babysitter,” she says.

“I don’t need you to be,” he says. “I just need a moment and for them to not walk straight into a pond. They can wander, just not into a drowning.”

She frowns. “... Fine.”

Din nods in gratitude and takes one out of the crib, then the other, holding both in his arms. Cara steps out the door onto the porch and Din steps with her, setting the twins down.

They turn and stare up at him, then around, grabbing hands before they begin to walk off the porch. Din watches them and Cara sits on the porch, back against the wall. He steps back inside, then takes a breath before he reaches up and grabs his helmet, pulling it off.

He takes the plate of food and begins to eat.

“I was thinking about defenses,” Cara says. “You can teach them to shoot. I can teach them close combat if the bandits get through. But I’ve been thinking about the protection. We need to set up something more than just walls.”

“Something to stop the mech?” Din takes a bite.

“Maybe not the mech.” Cara pauses. “No. A trap for the walker. You and I draw it out. We…” She pauses. “The farmers might not appreciate it much. But we dig out those ponds. Connect them and dig deep.”

“Like a moat,” Din says. He works through the food quickly, less focused on the taste.

“Exactly. Whoever’s piloting it is going to be focused on hitting us. We hit them hard, stir up the nest, get the mech out and get it to lock in. We come back here, hide behind barricades, and it drops into the trap. Then it’s just picking off the raiders. Shouldn’t be a problem for a guy like you. Want me to tie an arm behind your back?”

Din rolls his eyes. “Funny. The drop idea works -- it’s the best we got.”

Cara shifts. From the outside, there’s cooing, but no admonishing from the trooper. “There’s nothing else to hit that walker with,” she says. “Unless you want to take a trip and bring your ship? I imagine you’ve got the ordinance to take it out.”

“I can’t get my ship,” Din says. “I’ve got the ordinance, not the stealth. Moving it here would alert them, much less using it to get other people looking.”

“Shame,” Cara says.

Din takes a final bite, taking a moment to swallow. “We can set up more protection,” he says. “Cut down trees, set up barricades. Use those to direct the walker. It can’t go anywhere but straight to the pond.”

“Raiders could get past,” Cara says.

“Maybe, but we’re also giving them cover. If they’re met with resistance, they might stay behind the barricades rather than do a suicide charge.”

Cara whistles. “Then it’s on you to teach them to shoot,” she says.

“And on you to teach them to defend,” he says.

Things feel amiable between them. Din grabs his helmet and puts it on, stepping out, and Cara gets up. The  _ adike _ are still holding hands, a little ways away, picking up some pebbles to examine. They turn and glance back at Din.

Then, there’s a  _ ribbit,  _ and they look around in an instant.

“No,” Din says, but they pay him no mind, creeping towards a sprout of tall grass. There’s another  _ ribbit,  _ and both let go of their hands, lowering themselves down. “No -- hey--”

He manages to lunge off the porch and grab them by the coats, hefting them into the air before they can pounce. “No,” he says. “No frogs. There’s only one. Not again.”

Behind him, Cara laughs, and the kids both stare up at him with pinched faces before the wails begin. Din sighs, holding both tight in his arms as they squirm. The frog hops away and he walks back to the barn.

“Are they grounded from frogs?” she asks.

“There’s two of them and one frog,” he says. “Last time, the other cried until I got him a frog, too.”

Cara pauses to look at the twins, who continue to wail and cry, absurdly loud for their size. Other farmers are emerging from their huts around them, looking over. “Two frogs,” she says. “They eat get one? Whole?”

“Whole thing, down the hatch,” Din says. He kneels on the porch, putting them down, but with a finger hooked on each boy’s collar to keep them near. “It’s disgusting.”

“I don’t know why I assumed they’d… split it,” Cara says. The twins squirm to get away from Din but don’t get far. They plop down and wail, looking up at Cara as though for assistance. “Those teeth could grow into shredders.”

“They don’t have fangs, exactly, but they seem to like meat. They don’t care for much else.” Din makes a face. “I don’t want to see them ripping a frog apart to share.”

“Yeah.” Cara laughs. “I’d rather see a whole frog go down than… that.”

In the distance, kids gather to play. The moment the  _ adike  _ notice, they stop crying and stare at the kids, then begin to get up. They make pitiful whines, pulling away from Din. “Aaah!” one cries, looking towards the children.

“Fine,” Din says, and he lets go. They tumble forward. “Leave the frog alone.”

They climb off the porch and towards the kids.

“So, our plan.” Cara grabs a nearby stick that was leaning against the barn and starts to draw in the dirt. She makes a circle for the village, rectangles for the ponds, and bigger, surrounding swirls for the forest. She leans out and draws an X. “Say that’s their camp. Wherever it is. We sneak in, hit them hard, kill as many as we can. They bring out the mech.”

“Run back to the village,” Din says. Cara nods, dragging the stick to the village. “We can have… if the trap is  _ there,  _ barricades set up here.” He leans a foot out to drag the edge of his boot through the dirt, making the lines. “Should be close enough to see them, far away enough that they won’t just charge past and get right in our faces. We’ll have the wood, but we need whole trunks. Uncut. Too high to get over, too strong to push through.”

“That’ll be an effort from everyone.” Cara emphasizes the lines of a pond as the ‘trap’. “We know they have no experience. How long do you think we’ll need?”

“Days,” Din says. “I can’t just hand them guns. They’ll shoot each other or themselves. That needs time to learn, much less hit anything.” He pauses. “If I can get them to even touch the blasters.”

Cara nods. “We can use sharpened sticks for melee,” she says. “It’s as good as we’ll get.”

“Alright,” Din says. “We’ll gather everyone, get started today. Sound good?”

Cara nods and gets up, dropping the stick. “Let’s surprise some bandits,” she says.

Din smiles. She’s really starting to grow on him.

There’s something important going on.

Something important enough to take attention away from them.

Their caretaker disappears, and so does the strange woman who accompanied them here. Even Winta, their new best friend, has disappeared elsewhere, while the two little ones are only left with a single overseer and the smallest of the children.

Everyone is doing something just outside the buildings. They see some big people walk towards the big green things, and soon, there’s loud noises from there and the things begin to fall over. More things are being carried back, and people keep walking back and forth --  _ paying no attention to them. _

Their guardian told them to be good. So they would be…  _ good.  _ As long as they had patience for it. Tossing pebbles around was kind of fun. Whenever the big person watching them looked away, they’d see how far they each could throw one. Their guardian isn’t around to be a shiny target. They get bored quickly.

Just as they’re getting bored, the blasting begins.

It makes them jump and freeze in place, the emotions of both quickly turning.  _ Scared scared what’s that no where’s father where’s--  _ begins coming off each other in waves, making them grab hands and squeeze together.

Those noises were never good.  _ Never.  _ Their guardian made those noises when things felt bad. When mean people were trying to take them away. Their guardian -- their  _ father,  _ they think -- is nowhere to be seen.

On the verge of tears, they begin a new mission.

No time for stealth.

They make a run for it.

They aren’t very fast, but they aren’t stopped and instead move towards the noise. They sneak around the huts, very sure of their sneakiness, gripping hands to not be parted by mistake. Their minds entangle together, communicating with an ease they’ve never lived without, never needing to make a peep.

The Force whispers to them, guiding them to the one they seek.

They creep around the side of a hut, another round of blasting noises making them squeak and shrink back, but they soon inch forward again. There’s a line of villagers, aiming at a hanging shiny things, shooting them. Their guardian stands to the side, watching, and they both make happy coos.

He calls out. Everyone stops, slowly lowering the things in their hands. He’s talking, nonsense words that don’t mean much, far too distracted to see them sneak over. They see him gesture towards the hanging things. Then, the shooting starts.

One squeaks and grabs onto the other, letting out a whimper.

The noise is big but their guardian looks and sees them, quick to reach them and grab them up. Emotions like  _ alarm concern why are you here shouldn’t be here too loud  _ hit them both as they burrow against his arms.

The shooting stops, everything falling quiet, and the villagers are looking over. Their father lets out a sigh, looking down at them with his masked face, but they can feel his concern.  _ “Adike,”  _ he says. They look back up, sniffling, but duck their heads to hide.

He says something again. The villagers melt away, setting the guns aside. Their father looks down at them before giving one boy a gentle head scratch, earning a purring growl, and the other pushes up to receive one, too. They’re given another sigh, another grumble, but he doesn’t put them down.

He doesn’t push them away.

Instead, he goes to find a sling.

When the two boys are lashed to his back with a crude wooden carrier, one that looks more like a small woven basket than a device to carry a child, things become content again. Din is willing to leave the shooting alone for now, and instead focus on the physical carriers.

The tree trunks are tied together, leaving several stumps off in the distance as they’re leaning in and bound. It takes some time before Din and Cara are both in agreement that, yes, it’s tall enough that the AT-ST can’t just step over. With plenty of effort, neither can just shove the things over alone or together, so the bandits won’t be able to barrel through.

The sun moves across the sky, and Din is impressed at what they accomplished in only so many hours. A single structure in the barricade takes time and strength, so it’s slow moving, but worth the protection.

“Didn’t know it was take your kid to work day.”

Din glances back at Cara, then steps away from the latest barrier, rolling his eyes. “Keeps them quiet,” he says. Really, he’s half sure they’re napping. The two have been quiet at his back for some time now.

“It’s adorable.”

“No it’s--” Din stops and grumbles. “I’m not going to rise to that. How do you think this is going so far?”

Cara steps up and crosses her arms, looking around at the barricades. The pond designated as their trap has been cleared of krill, readying to dig in and create the drop. From inside the carrier, there are a few coos before the child settles.

“I think it’s going as well as we could hope,” Cara says. “A real shame we can’t use your Crest.”

“It would be easier.” Din looks around. Most of the villagers have disappeared for lunch, and the sun is growing hot. His armor adjusts to keep him cool. “But we’re teaching them as much as we’re helping. They won’t be so helpless after this.”

“If we win,” Cara says.

Din looks at her.

“Just worth mentioning.” She puts her hands up with a shrug. “They’re mercs, not Imps. I have full faith in this… tiny army. But we can’t act like losing people isn’t a possibility.”

Din sighs. He crosses his arms, nodding. “You’re right,” he says. “... Anyone can be killed.”

“We both know that,” Cara says.

Din nods. “We both know that.”

Inside the carrier, there’s squirming, and he lets out a breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Adike - little ones/sons/daughter
> 
> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)


	7. The Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He dreams of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

The preparations for the upcoming fight are going better than Din had anticipated. People could be unpredictable in how they reacted to violence for the first time. Nervous, awkward, uncomfortable. As a kid, he’d been given teaching practice by training the new foundlings to shoot -- it took time, patience, coaxing them into touching the blaster at all. He had been the same, after he was orphaned, terrified of loud noises.

But the villagers don’t shy away. There’s awkwardness with how to hold the weapons, with remembering to not point at anything they don’t want to shoot. In two days, there were several incidents of turning a gun on someone else or discharging by mistake.

Despite it, they’re not  _ afraid  _ of what they’re trying to do. Uncertain, yes. There’s healthy skepticism about how likely they are to succeed. But burning hotter is the desire to win, to protect their home and livelihood from the raiders. They may not have a natural proclivity to what comes natural for Din and Cara, but that doesn’t outweigh their enthusiasm to learn.

“How was shooting?”

Din looks up as Cara walks over. He’s reclined back in a chair, his gaze turning back to the kids. They’re all happily playing about together, the twins reaching out to toss krill and different colored balls into the air. The bigger children try to catch them, laughing. Every so often, one of the twins glances towards him, as though checking in.

“Fine,” he says. “They’re improving. Actually hitting the pots now.”

Cara is silent. But there’s a looseness in her stance, a slight hip sway, and he  _ knows. _

“What about Omera?”

_ Osik. _

“What about her?”

“Don’t play stupid, Mando.” She walks around him to lean against the wall. “You might not have a face but it’s still obvious that you’re looking. I can see you  _ staring.” _

“I’m not staring,” Din snaps.

“You’re not staring like those kids aren’t having the time of their lives,” Cara says. She’s smirking, sounding more than amused at his expense. “You’re interested in Omera.”

“She already knows how to shoot. No one else does. You think that  _ isn’t  _ interesting?”

“You and I have different definitions for the word  _ interesting  _ right now.”

Din grumbles. “Leave it alone,” he says. “It’s not what you think, but even then, it’s  _ none _ of your business.”

“You should talk to her.” Cara plants on hand on the back of his chair, leaning on it. “Strike up a conversation. I can give you some starters. I don’t know how good of a read you have for women, but if--”

“Cara,” he snaps.

“I’m just saying.” Cara smiles down at him. “If you  _ want,  _ I’m happy to help facilitate this obviously needed discussion.”

_ “Needed,”  _ Din huffs. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, explain to me. I’d love to hear it.”

“I can’t--” Din scowls. “I’m not going to talk about it. I’d rather talk about tomorrow night. Do we know how we’re--”

“Afbah!”

Both look down. One small, green child is standing below, staring up at him, arms lifted. Din looks towards the other children. “Where’s the other one?” he asks, but the child only whimpers and strains up. Din reaches down and sets him in his lap. He sees the small patch jobs on the coat as the kid snuggles against his stomach.

“Tomorrow night,” Cara says.

“Yes,” Din says, turning his attention back to her. “We can go at sundown. Hit them hard. Spring the trap. Kill ‘em all.”

“Think we’re ready?”

“As ready as we’ll ever be,” Din says. “... I’ll be able to relax when this is done. Things will be safer.  _ These  _ two might be safer.”

“And that’s why you’re doing this,” Cara says. “So they’re okay here.”

“So they’re all okay,” Din says. “These people don’t deserve what’s happening to them. I know what it’s like to feel… helpless. To have it all taken away.”

The kid squirms a bit but settles, face firmly tucked into the soft padding of Din’s gambeson, lying along his legs. Din brings a hand to touch his back, then hears a soft  _ ammph  _ that draws his attention. The second twin is walking over, rubbing at his eyes.

“I know what it’s like, too,” Cara says, a sudden seriousness in her tone, and she walks away.

Din watches her go with a frown. The twin holds his arms up to Din and he sighs before he scoops up the first, cradling him in one arm, before taking hold of the other. “How about a nap?” he says.

Both coo softly.

The boys are tired enough that they’re easy to put down, curling up beside each other and facing in. They press in despite the room around them and grip hands. Din watches, then looks to the window. With the day’s training done and the sun still in the sky, the villagers are working in the ponds, the children either playing or learning to help.

An exhaustion of his own settles over him and he grabs the recently installed curtain, letting it fall over the door, before he walks to the bed. He stops and looks at the  _ adike, _ then sits, and begins to take off his bandolier.

_ Just a nap. _

He dreams of home.

Not the ship. Not the sewers. His real home, with his clan, with his  _ father.  _ He dreams of being a boy again, being put through hellish training meant to break and rebuild, but he’d been damn  _ happy.  _ His clanmates who’d loved him like nothing else, always there for him, always supportive. Never had he been lonely.

He dreams of sitting beside his father, in his late teens, legs dangling off a cliff not far from their home compound, helmets set aside and each with a bottle of  _ tihaar.  _ The sun is setting and they’re drinking, talking, conversations they might have once had. His father slings an arm around Din’s shoulders, pulling him into a half-hug, and they’re laughing.

Then the sun is setting, everything is dark, and there’s screams.

His father is dragging him out of bed. He’s barely had the time to throw his armor on, pauldrons loose, vambraces mismatched _The Empire,_ his father hisses. Then he’s running, surrounded by wails of the dying and shouts for backup, rifle slung around his shoulder.

Getting into formation. Staring at the Imperial ordinance in front of them, the vast fields of stormtroopers, the crushing realization that they’re  _ completely outmatched.  _ They’re scattered by gunfire in an instant, being dragged behind cover by his friends, ringing in his ears.

Staring down at his hands, gloves shredded, his palms are burned but he feels no pain.

_ This is a dream. _

Then he’s drifting on his own, a lone survivor, struggling to eat or work. He’s walking when the crew appears, Ranzar first, that stupid charming smile when he greets Din for the first time--

_ Wake up. _

He’s full of anger. Hatred. At himself, at the galaxy--

_ Up! _

He jerks awake with a startled gasp.

Sweat grips his skin, he can hardly breathe, but two pairs of eyes are staring at him. The twins sit on his chest, both looking at him with curious eyes but sad expressions, one with a tilted head. “Amabrabga,” one babbles, crawling forward to plant hands against the rim of his helmet.

He takes deep, steady breaths, staring back at the big black eyes. He shifts a bit, but doesn’t sit up, focused more on his breathing. The dream is already disappearing from his mind. He can’t remember how it started.

But he remembers Ran’s voice, that easygoing tone in how he proposed a deal to Din. He remembers that starvation and absolute  _ desperation  _ for something reliable.

The boys coo and gurgle, and it draws his attention back.

Outside, the sun is going down. The child in front of his face is crouching down, resting his cheek against the rim of the helmet, almost cuddling against it while the other crawls up, being careful about the slant of Din’s body. They smile at him, toothless ones, making soft coos.

Din reaches up one hand and gently runs a finger over one’s ear, tracing the outline, and he’s given a happy trill in return. He smiles to himself, then holds them before he sits up, instead leaning back against the wall behind him. They sit in his arms, lying forward on his chest, staring up at him. Their eyes are big, seeming to analyze his features as much as he analyzes theirs.

They’re  _ so  _ identical, he thinks, with the barest wrinkles and marks to distinguish them. They squirm up higher, and he helps them up, for their faces to bury in on each side of his cowl. They settle there, unmoving, ears folded back but calm. He brings his hands up to brush his thumbs over their backs, gentle in rubbing.

He takes a deep breath, feeling their light weight, his heart calming but the unsettled feeling remaining. They both try to snuggle in as close as they can to him, just beneath his helmet. He keeps rubbing. They’re settled in place.

_ Too attached. _

This is temporary.

He’s protecting them, but they aren’t his… his children.

But then he sees himself on that cliff, drink in hand and his father’s arm around him, feeling so  _ damn loved  _ by a man who could’ve walked away after saving him. Who could have said no. Who instead had dedicated himself to Din, and had passed down every single redeeming quality Din still has left.

Within minutes, the  _ adike  _ are asleep again, breathing soft into the fabric. He closes his eyes. He needs to sleep. Has to sleep. Tomorrow is last minute preparations and then the final moment. Getting rid of the bandits, relieving the village of the threat.

But he can’t sleep. His body refuses. Instead, he’s staring at the far wall, listening to them breathe, small whistling noises as they inhale and exhale. He closes his eyes, sleep evading him.

Instead, he begins to think about what comes next.

A tension follows them the rest of the day. Din and Cara check their defenses once, twice, three and then four times, alone or together, making sure everything is as strong and perfect as it can be. The pond is dug deep. The barriers hold strong. The villagers are nervous, but confident.

“Sundown,” Din says. “There’s nothing left to do but eat and make sure we’re loaded.”

Cara nods. “Meet at sundown.”

Din nods back, and he goes to find his boys.

They’re not difficult to find; always with the other children, who travel about in a pack. Today, they’re playing alongside each other more than together, in smaller groups that seem content with this. The twins are together, hands held, sitting with Winta.

Din walks over, but can’t get a word in before Winta spots him and stands up in an instant.

“Do they have names?” she demands.

Din stops. The boys makes delighted trills as they toddle towards him, gathering at his feet, and Din looks at Winta before down at them. “No,” he says, shifting. The question and tone both throw him off. “... They don’t.”

“Why not?”

“They don’t have names.”

“They should!”

“I don’t know of any names.”

“Then you should name them.”

Din frowns and thinks of his conversation with Omera. “They aren’t mine to name,” he repeats, his voice gentle.

“What?” Winta looks at him with confusion. She crosses her arms. “You can name them. You’re their Papa!”

“Aaah!”

The twins push at his boot, demanding his attention as well, and Din crouches down. They coo and push into his hands until he scoops them up, letting them snuggle into his chest.

Winta stares at him, and he knows she’s expecting an answer.

But one child pushes up against his neck, snuggling in close, and he turns into it. Only to leave the silence where it is.

“They  _ need  _ names,” she says, her voice firm. It’s as bold as she’s ever been in speaking to him, clear passion behind it. “They deserve names! Don’t you have one?”

“No,” Din says. “I don’t.”

Winta stops at that, and she stares at him with big eyes. “You don’t have a name?” she says in a whisper.

Din smiles to himself, then shakes his head. “No,” he says, his tone even. “Mandalorians don’t use names. We all have a name we were born with. But no one has said it since I became one.”

“You  _ became  _ a Mandalorian?”

There’s a whimper, then a gag and a choking noise before one twin leans out of his arms, a splash of vomit hitting the ground. For a split moment, all is quiet, almost frozen.

Then the crying begins.

_ Shit,  _ Din thinks.

The other kids make disgusted noises and begin to pack away. Winta steps back, too, and Din turns to crouch down with the  _ adike. _ He lowers them onto the ground, but the one who’d thrown up -- with the better tunic -- stays attached to his hand, pulling on him as he wails. Din stares at him, then lifts him again into his arms.

There’s vomit around his mouth, down his front, and his expression is twisted up with discomfort as he cries. The other twin comes to Din’s knee, grabbing on to watch with sad eyes, a hand reached out towards his brother.

Din stares down at the boy, one thumb stroking the shell of his ear. “What happened?” he murmurs, cradling him. “Ate something?”

“Mando?”

Din looks up. Omera is walking over and the other kids have cleared away, a few of the adults looking over. The kid’s cries don’t stop, instead seeming to renew, and he  _ sobs.  _ Din looks up at Omera with desperation.

“He’s sick,” he says, letting out a breath. “I don’t…”

She kneels down in front of him, but the baby doesn’t acknowledge her, continuing to cry and curl in towards Din. Din feels a… strange rush of  _ sympathy,  _ his own stomach beginning to feel discontent. He swallows the feeling down and instead clutches the boy to his chest.

“I-I… think it’s his stomach,” Din says. “If he… he ate something bad? Bad krill?”

Omera frowns, but nods. “We’ll check the storage,” she says. “Mando? Look.”

He looks up at her, feeling breathless, an anxiety twisting its way into his gut the longer the baby cries.

“It’s okay,” she says. “It is. Kids get sick. Breathe.”

He nods shakily.

Then the baby wrenches himself over and throws up again, on the ground between them, and both move back away from the mess. The wailing is tempered now, but with no lack of pain, and Din gathers him up close to his chest. The other one stands at his knee, making soft little coos, a hand straining to reach his twin.

“Let’s bring him inside,” Omera says, standing. “We can lay him down in the barn, get him cleaned up and comfortable. Okay?”

“Okay,” Din swallows, and he stands up. The sick child huddles into his shoulder, sniffling. Omera scoops up the other baby, who whimpers and lets out a distressed cry, before they start towards the barn.

What started as confidence in their mission has turned into a terrible anxiety about the child in his arms.

His mind runs through the worst scenarios as they walked into the barn, as he tugs the soiled robe off and leaves the baby in the soft undercoat. “Abamom,” the child whimpers, tears streaking on his face as he curls up as tight as possible.

“It’s alright,” Din tries, kneeling down beside the bed. The child’s head rests on the edge of the pillow and he stares back at Din with miserable eyes. “Everything is okay. I promise. Your stomach hurts?”

The baby lets out a sob and squirms to turn away, face buried in the pillow.

“On your right,” Omera murmurs, and her hand brushes his arm to warn him. He takes a deep breath as she crouches down beside him, arms full of an extremely squirmy twin who’s fighting her hold. He turns and lets out a shriek directed at Din before Omera lets him go.

The second boy is fast to climb across into Din’s lap, crawling onto his knee. He takes a moment to balance himself before he stands up, claws grasping at the edge of the bed, tears in his eyes as he stares at his brother. His ears are bent low and he lets out a small, mournful wail.

“He’s okay,” Din says, lifting him up into his arms. “He just doesn’t feel well. You don’t… need to be sad.”

But the child trembles, and Din wonders if he knows more than he seems to.

Omera leans a hand forward, brushing the back of it against the sick baby’s skin, and Din finally jumps up to fetch water.  _ You’re ridiculous,  _ he thinks to himself. How many times has he cared for a sick cousin? Been asked to watch over them and change the buckets when they had to empty their stomach again? Too many times to count.

He knows basic medical.

But he’s  _ freezing. _

He returns, cup of water in one hand and baby in the other, until he’s sitting again, beside the bed. Omera has taken a blanket and draped it over the child, who lets out soft small whimpers. Din sets the distraught twin in his lap and a hand on the child’s back, gripping the water.

“C’mon,” he mumbles, but he’s only given a mistrustful look and the child turns away.

“Someone needs to stay with him,” Omera says. “He won’t reach a bucket.”

“I’ll stay,” Din says.

“No, I can.” Omera looks at him. “You and Dune need to be focused. You’re about to do something dangerous. You don’t want to be distracted by this.”

“I’ll be distracted no matter what.”

“He’s  _ okay,”  _ Omera says, and she puts her hand on his arm. It’s a reflex, he can tell -- a comforting one, because she nearly pulls back as soon as she realizes she’s touched him. But then she lets it resettle again and he makes no attempt to push her away.

It’s… comforting, to be touched in a way that isn’t to hurt him.

“He’ll be okay,” she says quietly. “This will pass.”

“I don’t know anything about them,” Din says, his voice coming out more shaky than he anticipates. “If this is… this is serious, more than sick, I can’t lose--” He stops. Takes a breath to steel himself, reigning his panic back in. “They can’t lose each other.”

Omera is quiet. For a few moments, she just looks at him, and then finally speaks. “Can I take your hand?”

Din swallows, then nods.

Her hand disappears from his arm, instead going to his hand as it rests on top of the baby and hers slips beneath his. Their fingers interlock and she gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

“When Winta was two, she became terribly sick,” she says. He stares at their hands. “I had all these people, but -- not her father. And I felt like I was alone in the galaxy for all those days, until the day she was laughing again.”

Din turns his gaze to the baby, who squirms and lets out another pathetic whimper.

“It can feel isolating,” she says. Her voice is so soft and gentle beside him, the sense of calm trying to force its way in. But Din just tightens his grip on her hand, a little bit, enough to feel like she’s  _ there.  _ “You… say you aren’t their parent. But you  _ are  _ all they have. Father or not… they don’t have anywhere else to turn to.”

Din feels his heart in his chest, pounding, up in his throat. The other baby is melded against his belly, watching with flat ears and teary eyes. Din sets the water aside and drops a hand to his head, slowly stroking, and the baby’s eyes close.

“I want to stay with him,” he says, voice quiet. “Just… just for a little while. And I’ll go.”

“Okay.” Omera’s hand slips from his and he lets it go, even when it feels strangely empty after. “That’s fine. I’ll come soon, and we can switch.”

Din nods, and Omera gets up, a bucket placed in her spot instead. He hears her walk towards the door. Then, she stops.

“Mando,” she says.

He looks back at her.

“We’re more than grateful for what you’re doing. But…” She hesitates. “If this doesn’t work, if…”

“It will work,” he says.

“I hope,” she says, her voice soft. She turns and leaves.

The chatter outside feels so distant, and it takes Din a few moments to move. But he gets up, his knees and hips cracking as he moves. He lifts the baby on him, then the bucket, and sits on the bed. Careful to not be disruptive, he lays the baby on one side, and then reaches for the sick one. Din gathers him up, keeps him wrapped tight in the blanket, and settles him at his other side. He keeps the bucket close, ready to catch whatever comes next.

The sick child lets out a soft whimper, tears streaming down his face, expression scrunched with discomfort as he shivers. Din starts to rub his back as the other crawls into his lap. He lowers down and lies flat along Din’s leg, but reaches a hand out, and there’s a moment before the other reaches out and their hands grasp.

Another round of vomit hits the bucket, and Din tilts it towards him.

The thought of leaving them now makes his chest hurt.

Omera comes to switch with him after two hours. The  _ adike _ have fallen asleep and the sickness has eased slightly, along with an empty stomach finally calming. He hates switching with her. He hates that he’s stepping away from them, even if they’re asleep, even if they probably won’t care. They don’t wake when they make the switch.

Instead, he goes with Cara to patrol once again, trying to push the image of a shivering, sick baby out of his head. It takes time before his shoulders can relax, his mind moving on to what’s at stake, trying to save his concern for later.

The kids will be in a hut together, on the opposite side of the battle. They’ll be safe. They’ll have an armed adult there to keep them safe.

They’ll be okay, he tells himself.

They’ll be perfectly okay.

And then the sun begins to set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Osik - dung, impolite  
> adike - little ones
> 
> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
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	8. The Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other rolls over, looking sleepy, but he brightens up as he sees Din.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

“Where are they?”

“Mando--”

_“Where are they?”_

The afterglow of victory is already long past. Even as the villagers are laughing and grinning, still pulling each other into hugs, exhausted and spent but _alive,_ Din can only grant himself the moment to relax for a few minutes before his thoughts are turning.

He thinks of the _adike,_ one terribly sick, and the other stressed with worry. He’s wrenched himself out of the pond with adrenaline pumping, and he’s still dripping water. But he’s pointed towards the village, where there’s a hut with children slowly coming out before they run towards their parents.

Din doesn’t hesitate.

The rest of the kids are gone, but inside, there is still the _adike._ They lie together on the bed, curled up beside each other in a heap. The sick one is still wrapped in a blanket, and Din drops to his knees beside them, breathless as he scoops him up and holds him to his shoulder.

There’s a soft mewl against him.

The other rolls over, looking sleepy, but he brightens up as he sees Din. He struggles to his feet and toddles over, lifting his arms, and Din reaches an arm out to scoop him up, too. He holds them both against him, taking deep breaths as they snuggle beside his helmet on either side. His fingers dig into their robes, gripping them, as his panic finally begins to calm.

The afflicted one coughs. His eyes are slitted, looking up at Din but with exhaustion. Din leans his head down to press the helm of his forehead to the child’s and lingers there, taking deep breaths. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. Everything is okay.” The child makes a soft coo before his eyes close completely, snuggling in closer.

He falls backwards to sit, his back hitting the wall, and he brings his knees to his chest with his ankles crossed. He’s still soaked, but he keeps them higher up where he’s somewhat dry. They don’t seem to mind what’s damp. They snuggle in, and he closes them in tight, taking deep breaths as he just _holds._

The raiders are dead, the village is safe, their little party of three is _safe._ His heart begins to calm. He can take deep breaths now, relaxing, feeling small claws grip his cape’s fabric without thought.

They’re okay.

Everything is okay.

Din loses the tension in his shoulders.

The next morning, _everyone_ sleeps in. The sun rises into the sky and still no one gets up, all wordlessly agreeing to just stay in bed. There’s an AT-ST to clear out of the pond. Barricades to take down. Walls to take apart. There’s work to be done to return the village to normal, but it can wait. Sleep, relaxation, is more important after the effort they’ve put in.

Not for Din, it seems.

He’s awoken before dawn by the sounds of a retching child, and he has to drag himself out of bed with aching muscles and utter exhaustion. The sick twin is still hot with fever, his misery unyielding, and Din’s stomach turns with sympathy at the mess dripping off the edge of the crib to the floor. He grabs yet another towel to wipe it clean, trying to keep his eyes open, and the child is sweating in his soiled robe. It _was_ washed. It’ll have to be washed again.

He watches Din with those miserable eyes, unmoving. The other has curled up at the other end of the crib, yet to be bothered. Din sets the towel aside and reaches for the afflicted boy, careful in drawing him into his arms. The baby is quick to latch onto him, face burrowing into his cowl with soft whimpers. Din rubs his back, yawning, as he walks to the door. It’s kept clear this time, both children too sick or exhausted to try to escape. Din sits on the porch, trying to keep his eyes open.

The sun is rising, the sky lightening. The two moons still shine overhead, setting now as the sun comes up. The village is quiet. Only one person is out, looking dead exhausted as he goes for morning relief. The baby is quiet but for the sound of his breathing through his mouth, curling up tight into Din’s hold. He makes a small whimper.

 _“Morut’yc,”_ Din murmurs. He leans the forehead of his helmet down to the child’s, gentle in pressing together. The boy’s eyes fall shut and he shifts before relaxing. _“Jate. Jate, ad’ika._ Good.”

Behind him, there’s a soft yawn, and then whimpering, the sort of sound that demands attention. Din turns and looks at the second child, who stands with a grip on the bars of the crib. Seeing that he has Din’s attention, he makes a trill and stands up onto his toes.

“Great,” Din mumbles before getting up.

He returns to the porch with both in his arms. The newly awoken twin is happy to curl into the warmth of his arm, performing a delightful stretch outwards before he slumps against Din. Now, both are content where they are, leaving his arms useless for anything else. Not that he entirely minds.

The sun continues to rise. It’s cool now, but it’ll become hot soon. Din looks down at the sleeping _adike_ in his arms, his thoughts wandering again, beginning to think of what comes after this.

They’re happy here. Things are peaceful here. And he’s in no hurry to leave.

Winta’s right.

They need names.

Din sucks in a breath, watching each child. Names… have meaning. Names are _identities._ That was a decision to be made when a child became a foundling with a name they knew, if they wanted to keep it. If they wanted to leave behind their old life entirely and claim something new. Sometimes the older kids did that. Some children, when they were formally adopted, took their clan’s name.

Din hadn’t. Djarin was the name of his birth family, and changing it felt… wrong. Uncomfortable. He’d kept it, clung to that part of his past, permanently signaling to others that he was a _foundling._ Names are important. They changed things.

And naming these two is a type of claim. Giving them new identities, erasing whatever they may have had before to what he decides for them now. They _aren’t his to name,_ they aren’t his children, and the weight of this is sitting on his shoulders now. The sun rises higher, and still no one else rises with it, leaving them alone in the peace of the village.

The healthy child squirms. He settles again, and Din watches him for several seconds before he’s sure he’s okay.

 _They deserve names._ Winta is right, completely right, even if Din wasn’t prepared for it. Isn’t it crueller to keep names from them? To just refer to them as _the twins_ without really distinguishing? New names are better than none, but… these may not…

He sighs and shakes his head. Absolutely, he’s making this more complicated than he needs to be.

They deserve names.

Cleanup begins around noontime, once food has been passed around and everyone has digested breakfast. The sick child seems to be doing a little better, but he’s still lethargic and seeking the comfort of Din’s arms. His twin is determined to stay with him, letting out a whimper when they’re separated by just a few feet for Din to move them. They lie together under the blankets, refusing to budge before they’re drifting off to sleep.

Din kneels down beside the crib, letting out a breath as he rubs their backs with gentle but firm touches. The vomiting seems to have stopped for now, but he won’t hold his breath.

“Mando,” Cara calls from the doorway. Behind her, dark clouds have begun to move in, not as dark as they could be but enough to indicate rain is coming. Better if they can get as many barriers moved as possible before it’s all soaked, but Din looks down at the twins.

“Can’t leave them alone,” he croaks.

“Someone can watch them,” Cara says. “We need your help.”

Din strokes the sick one’s cheek, frowning. “I don’t want them to wake up and I’m gone.”

“Mando,” Cara says again, and he lets out a sigh, pulling his hand away. He knows he needs to help. He just doesn’t… “It’ll rain soon, anyway. You’ll be back quickly.”

Din gets up.

Winta volunteers in an instant to watch over the _adike,_ happy to sit in the barn and draw on a pad as the two sleep. Din follows Cara, then, out to the perimeter where the villagers are already working to dismantle things. They approach another barrier and Din pulls his vibroblade as Cara grabs a hatchet. They take different sides of the logs, beginning to hack and saw at the ropes holding them together. After a few seconds, the rope falls to the ground in pieces and the branches collapse on each other. Din and Cara step back, then gather up the logs and start walking them towards the nearby shed.

The branch barriers are cut apart, the wood shoved into the shed to keep dry for burning. Farmers are in the ponds, working with the krill as the clouds continue to move in. Half the defense is taken down, stored or returned to their proper places, before thunder booms across the sky.

Din and Cara turn to look. The sky is dark, the air tingling with the sensation of an incoming storm. They glance at each other just as drops begin to fall, and they toss the last of their current logs into the shed. Other villagers are already getting out of the ponds, covering things from the rain, as lightning forks in the distance. Din and Cara split, each jogging back to their respective lodging before the rain can really start. 

As he comes around the corner of the barn, Winta is peering out of the doorway, her drawing pad held to her chest. “Mando!” she says with a smile. “They’re still asleep.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Get home before it comes down.”

Winta nods and dashes out past him, running for her own hut, and Din steps into the barn. It’s become dark as the sun is hidden, his HUD gradually adjusting its vision to accommodate. He starts to pull off his vambraces, letting his wrists roll in their full range of motion before he glances at the crib.

Both twins are, yes, still out cold. They’re cuddled together, wrapped up in the blanket, no sign of a stomach’s contents. He walks over and lets his fingers brush against their backs before he reaches up and slides his helmet off.

They don’t stir. Din turns and slumps down onto the bed, looking at the twins before he closes his eyes and rubs at them. The rain begins to pick up, and it turns in an instant, slamming down against the roof in a thunderous display. Din glances up, then runs a hand through his hair before he tries to let his shoulders relax. The rain is calming. He takes a deep breath of the air, listening to it pound, to the thunder that cracks. A few minutes later, the lightning forks again, flashing light into the barn.

Soft, frightened whimpers rise up, muffled by the blankets.

Din reaches for his helmet in an instant, shoving it back on, before he sits up. In the crib, the twins are awake, one sitting up and staring out at the window while the other blinks with flat ears. One scrambles up to grab onto the bars, the other -- Din’s sure he’s the sick one -- curling up tightly with a soft whimper.

Thunder claps again, and both kids squeal.

Din gets up and walks over. They turn to stare up at him and one raises his arms up with a pleading trill. “P… P…” the _ad’ika_ tries, and Din scoops him up. He reaches for the other, too, drawing them to his chest together. They cuddle in, hiding their faces in his beskar, as he walks over and settles down in front of the door. He sits with his legs crossed, looking out at the rain as it comes down, watching it gather on the porch. It tilts downwards, letting it wash off rather than flood into the barn, but still hits hard.

The kids turn in his arms to watch, ears perking at the noise. One begins to squirm out and he lets them. They crawl over his leg, getting down to the floor without harm, one hand still planted on his knee. They stare out at the rain, then look back at Din and let out a string of nonsense babbles.

“It’s rain,” he says.

“Abasav.” The baby turns again, looking at the rain, before he begins to walk towards it. Din reaches a hand out, but the twin just barely is out of reach.

“Wait,” Din says. “You’ll get wet--”

He clutches the other child to his chest and leans forward but the baby doesn’t seem concerned. He stares up at the dark sky, then reaches out a hand. Din goes to grab him but stops.

Instead, he watches as the rain in front of them stops.

It’s a tiny area, a small box, but it appears as though an invisible shield has been set out to block the rain. It hits the shields and bounces off as though it were the ground, hard and splashing, but barely anything gets through. The child steps under it, looking out at the villager before he giggles. The other twin begins to stir as though roused by the playfulness, beginning to squirm out, too. Din hesitates, but lets him.

He walks to join his brother, hand lifting as well. Din watches them both look around, hands grasping together as they hold up the shield, and then look back at him with smiles. He takes a deep breath and sits back on his heels.

But it doesn’t take long before they’ve tired, and rain starts to poke through. It splashes them, earning surprised shrieks, but the force of the storm has lessened to light rain and their shield drops. They’re hit with the water, but both only turn their faces up towards it, seeming delighted by it.

“You’ll _both_ get sick,” Din says, “come on.”

They look at him again, and this time their ears flatten and they look at him with a pleading gaze. Their hands grip and they shuffle a little further out before they sit in protest, almost daring him to come out and grab them himself. Lightning flashes, followed by thunder, and they jump but don’t look much more frightened. They shuffle a little further out.

 _“Adike,”_ he says, voice firm. He starts to get up, and in an instant, one shrieks and they turn to run off. They only go a few feet, instead distracted from their escape by the existence of a forming puddle. They stop and stare down into it, looking at their reflections, eyes big. They coo. Din stops in the doorway and lets out a sigh as the wind blows past, carrying leaves with it.

They jump in with a splash, giggling.

Din grumbles to himself, but only sits in the doorway and watches them hop in the water, facing the open sky. He thinks of Arvala-7, how delighted they had been to see rain for what may have been the first time. The storm picks up a little more, coming down harder, but they only seem delighted as their robes grow wetter. With resignation, he gets up and looks for the blankets.

_“You’re soaked, kid.”_

_Din catches the towel his buir throws at him, clutching it before he takes off his helmet with a sigh. “It rained when our shift started,” he grumbles. “We were there for hours.”_

_“Who was with you?”_

_“Riese. So it wasn’t terrible.” Din smiles._

_“I don’t think you two can exist without each other.” His buir smiles, giving him a light push to the shoulder as he walks past. “Go bathe, womp rat.” Din grins at him before he walks to the ‘fresher with squeaking boots._

It takes the twins several minutes before they start to shiver, trudging back towards the safety of the barn. The wind picks up and they hurry, dripping water from their sleeves and weighed down by soaked clothes. Both sniffle, the one already sick starting to look more uncomfortable. Din reaches for him first with bare hands and rolled up sleeves, working to wring out some of the water before tugging the robe off. The underclothes are soaked, too, and Din works those off before the kid is wrapped up snug in a blanket. The other follows, passive in being undressed, but he’s looking content when he’s snug, too.

He takes them into his arms, sitting back on the bed, and he lets them lie on his chest. He keeps his hands on their backs, keeping them from rolling, and both peek up at him before making soft coos. Now, they’re truly identical, eyes closing or raspberries blown. They smile, snuggling down, ears dripping water but mostly dry.

Thunder booms. They cuddle closer to each other in their cocoons, looking happy once again, smiling as they settle down. Din watches them both, how the sick one drifts off quickly while the other watches him back. Their gazes hold.

_Good?_

The thought appears in his mind. Din frowns at the alienness of it; it doesn’t come from within, almost as though he’s compelled to think of it. “Good,” he says aloud, his voice soft and uncertain. “... Good.”

The baby’s ears twitch, and then he’s closing his eyes. Din strokes his thumbs over their backs, gentle in lulling them to sleep, and rolls his head to the side to watch the rain fall. It continues to lash against the roof, thunder booming, the sky nearly black. 

As his thoughts float, the names come to him.

“Riese and Rhain?” Winta repeats.

“Are those Mandalorian names?” Omera asks.

The twins are returned to their robes, mostly dry since the storm ended though somewhat damp. They don’t seem to mind it much, not while Winta is rolling a ball for them to hit back to her, and Riese looks tired but less sick than before. Din and Omera stand on either side of the exchange, watching them.

“No,” Din says. “Is it… too much that they start with the same letter?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Which is which?” Winta says, grinning with delight as the ball comes back to her, though she has to lunge to the side to grab it. She rolls it again.

“Rhain has the tears on his clothes,” Din says. “Although… if I mess up the clothes, I’ll mix up who they are.”

“You may…” Omera smiles, “have to find a way, yes.”

Din stops to think on it, but Winta beats him to it, freezing with the ball in her hands before straightening. Riese makes a whine, waving for the ball to come to him, but Winta looks at Din. “A bracelet!” she says. “They can wear a bracelet. Then you’ll know who is who.”

Din looks at her, then at the twins, Riese making a happy coo when he gets the ball. He gives it a shaky _kick,_ sending it rolling past Rhain to Din’s feet. Rhain makes a squeak and Din taps it to him. “That could work,” he says. “Though that’ll… be very small. To lose.”

“Maybe a necklace, then.” Omera smiles at him. “We have the string and beads for it. I can show you how.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The ball rolls back to Winta and she catches it between her hands. “Rhain!” she calls. Both twins look over at her, ears pricking, and she makes a face. “... They don’t know it yet.”

“It’ll take time before they realize their names,” Omera says, crouching down. Riese is closest to her, and he smiles at her before wandering over, hands planting against her knee. She gives him a smile in return and he coos. She runs her fingers over his head and he makes a trill like a purr, eyes shut. Din smiles to himself.

“They’ll know them!” Winta says with confidence. _“Riese and Rhain._ They’ll get it.”

Din nods and crosses his arms, watching the _adike_ closely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a  
> Morut’yc - safe  
> Jate - good
> 
> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)


	9. Day Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The villagers seem wary about losing one of their two fighters, even if it’s just for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

The first necklace turns out to be, to Din’s disappointment, a failure.

The materials are visually pleasing. Strong black string with blue cubed and dished beads stacked in different patterns can create a beautiful piece of jewelry, but with Din’s attempt, it’s…  _ alright.  _ The knots he makes to space out the pieces, as Omera shows him, aren’t even and it isn’t as perfect as hers. But that proves to not be the main issue.

Instead, it’s that neither kid will wear it.

The necklace is too big to be a bracelet, too small to be anything a human can wear around their neck. Riese, then Rhain both reject the piece, pulling at it with whimpers until it’s off. The slight appeasement is that they won’t wear Omera’s attempt, either, so it isn’t strictly Din’s poor craftsmanship that they despise. 

Din sighs, the string dangling between his fingers as the twins instead toddle about with the other children. “Well…”

“Either one may have to get used to it,” Omera says. “Children are picky.”

“They are,” he murmurs, slipping the beads through his fingers. He watches the boys; Riese has begun to eat again, a relief after so much sickness. He’s been wolfing food down as though to make up the difference, and Rhain seems to relax too.

There’s a moment of silence, then shifting beside him. “Can I ask…” she pauses, “the helmet?”

His hand stops. He looks down at it, then up at the children as they play, fingers tightening around the necklace.

“You don’t…” Omera hesitates again. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want…”

“It’s fine.” That slips off his tongue easily enough. “Everyone wants to ask that. Most don’t… don’t do it as nicely.”

She looks at him with an expression of sad concern and he sighs, straightening up. “It’s… hard to get used to,” he says. “Children get their helmets once they’ve begun training. There’s a… threshold, in a sense. To be able to fight and hold your ground before the adjustment. I got mine a few months after I was taken in.”

“And it… doesn’t come off?” she whispers.

“No. That young, training was the only required time. Children who hadn’t taken the Creed could wear them as they wanted. The HUD takes getting used to. You have to adjust for the weight. It’s… a learning process. I came of age, and I swore my oath. Now, I don’t take it off in front of others.”

Omera looks at him, looks with a concern of the gentle type, a sadness. For… him. “I just can’t imagine how lonely it must feel,” she says. “No faces…”

“I saw my clanmates,” he says. “My father. My family. We could all see each other at home. That’s… different.”

“Do you still…”

“They’re dead now. I think.”

Omera stares at him with… sympathy. Almost pity, maybe, and no one has ever looked at him with  _ pity  _ before and he finds that he likes it about as much as he likes the aggression. “I’m used to it,” he says, voice curt. He looks down at the necklace in his hand. “You move on.”

She frowns. But the twins wander over with sleepy eyes, a good distraction as he scoops them up for naptime.

The rest of the barricades are disassembled, the wood stored and put away. It’ll last a while, used now in fires for cooking dinner, and the village has returned to its usual quiet peace. Din often works with the basket on his back, the twins happily nestled inside to be present as he walks about, and he’s careful to not jerk them around with hasty movements. Eventually, they’re down to just moving the objects of the barricade back to where they belong, a task of just walking back and forth.

After several hours, all that’s left is the mech, still sitting in the pond.

“It’s fried,” Cara says, her voice coming light and almost muted from inside the AT-ST. The cockpit of the walker doesn’t have much room, and there was clear disgust when she climbed into the tiny space still covered in Klatooinian viscera. She lets out a huff, the sound resounding around the cockpit. “That charge might’ve saved us, but it sure screwed us from using it.”

“Couldn’t really use it,” Din says. The twins squirm a bit in the carrier before settling. The villagers have all returned to their daily lives as much as possible, leaving Din and Cara to deal with the walker however they see fit. “Besides, a place like this using an AT-ST is too much attention. They won’t pilot it.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Cara mutters. She lets out another huff, then begins to climb out. Din offers a hand and she grabs it for leverage, pulling herself out and through. “Circuits are blown and fried. We can scrap it, but we don’t exactly have the tools to take this thing apart.”

They both stand back from the walker, looking over it. It isn’t an AT-AT, not as massive as its full-sized cousin model, but it isn’t small either. Din tilts his head to the side as he examines the entire machine, stomach turning as he imagines being stared down by it. “Not here,” he says. He crosses his arms. “But I might have some at my ship. I can leave with the transport and be back tomorrow night.” He looks at Cara. “We can take it apart then.”

Inside the carrier, the kids move again.

“I can go with you,” Cara says.

Din shakes his head. They turn and start walking back towards the village. “Easier if I go alone,” he says. “And there might still be raiders in the forest. Better if one of us stays to defend, in case something happens.”

Cara frowns. “And if something happens to  _ you?”  _ she says. “You’re a great fighter, but if you’re attacked and worrying about those kids--”

“I won’t bring them.” As they walk into the village, Din reaches up and slips the basket’s straps off his shoulders, bringing it around to his front. He opens the lid and Rhain is the first to pop up with a big smile, the tatters on his coat easy to spot so close. He lets out a coo, Riese standing up beside him. “They’re safe here.”

Cara eyes them with a smirk. “Remember when we walked away for just a  _ patrol?”  _ she asks as Rhain reaches desperately for Din. “When they tried to follow?”

“They’re little,” Din says. “And if they’re looking at me as their… caretaker, then that’s just their reaction. It’ll be time before they’ll realize that when I leave, I’ll come back.”

“You sound like a parenting holo.”

Din rolls his eyes, a slight helmet tilt conveying the gesture. “I grew up with children around,” he says. “I’m not completely clueless.” He bends down to one knee, lowering the basket down, and lifts Rhain out. The  _ ad’ika  _ is quick to snuggle up to him, while Riese blinks with sleepiness, leaning on the basket’s rim. “They can survive a little while without me.”

Rhain squirms to get comfortable, head turned towards Cara, and he smiles and coos before giving her a wave. Cara smiles in return. “Are you sure?” she asks. “Seems their hearts are almost too big for their size.”

Din smiles. Riese begins to try climbing out of the basket, seeming more alert now, and Din slowly tilts the basket onto its side so he can crawl out. He gets to his feet and starts towards a nearby bush with its long, slender leaves. Rhain watches him, then begins to squirm out of Din’s hold with a call of “Abassa!” directed at him. Din nods in faux understanding before lowering him down to the ground. The boy starts following after his brother, toddling along.

“They’ll know that I’m coming back,” Din repeats. “And then they won’t cry every time I disappear.”

Cara crosses her arms and shrugs. “If that’s your plan,” she says. “I won’t claim to know--”

A  _ ribbit  _ catches his attention and Din whips around, watching as the  _ adike  _ both jump after a leaping frog. It just escapes their attack and Riese lets out a displeased shriek before they’re up again. Din lets out a sigh and shakes his head, picking up the basket. He won’t bother. Let them figure out the logistics of frog hunting on their own, without involving  _ him. _

“Some morbid part of me wants to see this,” Cara says with a laugh. “You said they swallow it  _ whole?” _

“Straight down. But not even smoothly.” Din grumbles. “You can be the one they beg for a second frog.”

Cara laughs again as Din walks away, heading back to the barn. “C’mon,” he hears her call. “You almost had it.”

He rolls his eyes.

The villagers seem wary about losing one of their two fighters, even if it’s just for the day. While relief has spread through the village, there’s still worry about stragglers coming back as a desperate attempt at revenge or obtaining supplies. But there’s little fuss about it, and though the sun will set soon, Din is content to go now rather than wait it out. 

“We’ll keep them entertained,” Omera promises. He gives her a nod and looks down at the  _ adike,  _ who have been following him about without a care. They turn to look up at him, letting out soft coos, hands gripped together.

Din crouches down in front of the boys, reaching a hand out to gently touch Riese’s shoulder. They stare up at him. “I’ll be back,” he says. “Just a day, or a little more.”

They only continue to stare, ears pricking, heads tilting in unison. Then, their expressions begin to fall, ears drooping down. Soft whimpers escape and they start to walk towards him, arms held up. “No,” he says, and he reaches down to turn them around. “You’re safer here.”

“Aaah!” Rhain whines, turning quickly. He dashes and grabs onto Din’s boot as Riese only watches, looking at his brother and then at Din. Rhain lets out a string of babbles and growls, eyes pleading as he stares up at Din, ears low.

_ “Arasuumir,”  _ Din murmurs, bending down. He gently pulls the boy’s hands off, feeling the claws dig into his skin, before drawing back. “Stay.”

The child whimpers again. But Din turns and gets onto the transport, grabbing up his rifle, and walks to the front. He sits down there, laying the rifle across his lap, a muttered  _ “drive”  _ to the droid. The droid lets out a series of rusty beeps, the transport lurches, then they’re off, moving at a slow pace towards the trees. He watches the twins, who watch him in turn, making no attempt to follow but their ears are expressive as is.

They turn and run to Omera for comfort, grabbing onto her ankles and the hem of her dress, eyes still locked on Din. She crouches down to them, then gives Din a wave. He waves back, and he can see the boys lift their hands in an imitative gesture. As the trees come between them, Din lets out a breath and adjusts his rifle, running a hand over the blaster on his hip. He isn’t worried about an ambush by leftover Klatooinians. Any jump out, he can handle them.

But he thinks of sad little faces watching him go, and for the first time, there are people who hate to see him leave.

The boys are sad, so everyone is sad.

Cara isn’t worried about Mando. He’s a capable fighter and already packing some serious heat in just that rifle alone; a raider jumps out at him, they’re going to regret it. Or not, depending on the comprehension time between the trigger being pulled and their atoms being wrenched apart. But he’s just going for tools and coming back on a path they’ve already seen.

Cara isn’t worried.

But Mando’s kids are.

As much as the man denies the boys being  _ his,  _ it seems he forgot to tell the kids that. From the moment Mando disappears through the trees, the two little ones are miserable, being sulking little womp rats who will cling to Omera but rebuke anyone else. Cara seems the only other person in the whole village who will get acknowledgment. Even Winta and the other children's attempts to cheer them up with games fall flat, going ignored.

“They’re just sad without him,” Omera tells Winta. “They might feel alone right now.”

“But they’re not,” Winta says. “They’re not alone. They can play with us!”

“Maybe later.”

The kids slog off, pouting, but within minutes are playing again without a thought towards it.

That night, the sun goes down and the twins yawn but make no attempt to come to their crib. They simply follow slowly at Omera’s heels as she tidies up her and Winta’s hut, and Cara watches from afar, leaning against the barn’s wall. Something about Mando being gone  _ does  _ sit wrong -- while nothing’s happening, the knowledge that he isn’t here is… off. It feels as though the mood is being projected over the village, originating right in the attitudes of the little ones. Finally, the boys seem to tire enough that they turn and come towards the barn, feet dragging until they come to Cara on the porch. They look up at her, eyes blinking with sleep.

“Past your bedtime,” she says.

Omera looks over, and seeing the boys with Cara, gives a nod of  _ good night.  _ Cara gives the nod back, then looks down again at the twins. They start in towards the crib, Riese pulling Rhain’s hand, until they come to the legs of the crib. Riese turns and lets out a soft whine, drawing Cara’s attention, and then another, louder to make the request.

“Alright.” She walks over. She bends down and picks up Riese, placing him in the crib, and there’s another quick whine from both of them before Rhain joins him. She watches them snuggle down together, heads meeting and little huffs emitting as they settle. “... There. All good.”

She starts towards the door, boots thumping against the wood, before a shrill little whimper calls her back. Cara stops in the doorway and turns back, two pairs of eyes staring at her, sleepy but pleading. A small  _ “mwep”  _ noise escapes and Riese gets back up to his feet, coming to the bars of the crib to look out at her. He lets out the sound again -- small, sad, and begging.

“He’ll be back tomorrow,” Cara says. “Promise, buddy.”

Another miserable coo escapes, ears flattening further, before she lets out a sigh and walks over. “I know you’re lonely,” she says, “But it’s just…”

The sad eyes stare up. Cara looks down at them, then glances towards Mando’s bed. “You want someone to stay?” she says. She frowns to herself. It certainly wasn’t in her plans to be watching over the little monsters, as adorable as they are. It seemed more a set decision that they’d chosen Omera as their temporary keeper. But they stare at her now with those stupidly cute eyes, and…

“Alright. I’ll stay.”

Just until they’re asleep.

Being in Mando’s bed, as much as the man probably wouldn’t care, feels too odd. So instead she sits on one of the several containers still scattered around the barn, leans back against the wall, and watches the stars out through the door. She takes in a deep breath and lets it out; the boys both watch her for another long minute, as though waiting to see if she really does stay. She looks towards them again, and finally they begin to settle again, snuggling down for sleep.

Cara frowns. The looks on their faces… it hurts, somehow, to see loneliness there. It seems to be more than small kids missing their parent. And though it feels like a stretch, it’s almost a little mournful.  _ What the hell have you seen before he found you?  _ she thinks. Mando had been brief in describing their meeting. The kids were bounties for the Empire, and he’d stolen them back to protect them, effectively destroying his place in the Guild. Noble for a bounty hunter, but it left an entire unknown history for these little guys.

She watches them and wonders how many times they’ve felt this abandoned sensation before, with only each other to rely on.

The next day behaves much like yesterday. Life in the village continues, but with the almost melancholic atmosphere that seems to stem from the twins. Once again, they follow Omera about, but she shoos them away once she has to work in the ponds, gentle but equally firm in not letting them too close to the water.

So instead, they come find Cara, in the middle of her lessons.

Following the fight with the raiders, a few of the villagers’ men and a couple of women were interested in continuing their…  _ education.  _ Cara was delighted to oblige -- everyone should be able to defend themselves, after all -- and the past several days have been lessons beyond the ponds, first working with the basics. How to make a fist. How to punch properly. Moving slow, making sure that the technique is good, not allowing bad habits. Jila and Kalin are holding their ground well. Caben and Lon struggle in their ability to hit hard. But nothing that can’t be fixed with time.

She’s in the middle of an explanation about face protection when everyone’s attention shifts down to her feet.

She stops and looks down at the two little ones by her boots, both looking as sad as yesterday as they stare up at her. Their arms raise and soft whimpers escape.

Cara crouches down. “Can’t do this right now, buddy,” she says, her voice gentle. “He’ll be back soon.”

More whimpers. Both crowd around her boot, eyes staring up.  _ Sad.  _ They’re just… so expressive she can practically feel the emotion.  _ Please. _

She stares back down at them, then looks around at her students.

Then, ten minutes later, is readjusting Jila’s shoulders with the basket on her own back. The two boys seem content with this arrangement and like Mando, she tries not to jostle them with her movements. Unfortunately, this means she isn’t getting to ground defense today, but that can be tomorrow when Mando is back and returned to his  _ rightful _ place as their tree to climb and annoy.

But, well, they’re quiet. So she doesn’t mind, wearing them on her back until they’ve wrapped up the lessons with a few more bruises but more confident smiles than yesterday. While she and Mando have no plans to leave, if they do, the village will at least have a few people that can step up for protection.

The rest of the day… drags on. The villagers work, and Cara runs another patrol around the area. There’s a few tracks that look more animal than Klatooinian, not drawing much concern. She’s confident enough in their security that she lets the twins come along in their basket, more of a walk through the cool shade at this point. It’s peaceful, calm, and the sun is beginning to set. She strolls about, listening to the little ones coo back and forth to each other. Their company is nice when they’re calm, providing a bit of background noise that fades in with the forest.

It’s nearly pitch black, her light turned on, when she starts heading back. The lights of the village are still in sight.

But blasters fire in the distance, and she whips around on her heel. She’s running before she can think about it, pulling her own blaster,  _ Mando  _ running through her head as the shots continue to fire. Of course he’d get into trouble this close to the village. As she sprints, the blasters get louder, lights begin to flash against the trees, and she’s pulling the basket’s straps off her shoulders, ready to--

She reaches a ridge, overlooking a small circular area just five feet below. Mando is here, blaster firing into one raider that sends it to the ground before he’s grabbed and grappling with another. Three more bodies surround them, all steaming with plasmic residue. Inside the basket that hangs off her arm, the twins begin to squirm about, letting out excited squeals.

Mando and the Klatooinian both grunt, breathing hard, arms locked. The raider slams his heel into Mando’s knee, earning another hiss and groan before stumbling back, but the Mandalorian just pulls him in and slams a knee into his gut. He does it a second time, both just earning sounds of pain with no real results. Then, another grunt, and Mando headbutts the raider, a distinct  _ ring  _ from the helmet as it connects. The Klatooinian’s head goes back, stunned, and Mando rips back from him to land a heel kick. His hand goes for his holster, but it’s empty, and he pauses to look.

The final blow fires from Cara’s blaster, straight through the raider’s chest.

Mando jumps, dropping into a defensive crouch against the ground as he looks, but he relaxes upon seeing them. The twins are fighting against the basket’s hold, demanding shrieks escaping.

“Thanks,” Mando says.

“You’re welcome.” Cara hops down to the ground with a grin, then walks over to him. She crouches down and settles the basket, unlatching the top. “Couldn’t stay out of trouble, huh?”

“I didn’t start it,” Mando says, a bit of snark in his voice. But Cara can hear the smile and doesn’t respond, just lifting the lid. In an instant, the twins pop up, staring up at Mando with big eyes and happy cries. Rhain lifts his arms as high as he can manage but Riese pushes on the edge of the basket, forcing it over so they both plop.

“Whoa,” Mando says, reaching out to grab the basket’s rim. But the boys don’t care, scrambling up and to his feet, arms raised. He leans down and is careful in scooping them both up at once, gathering them against his cuirass with a gentleness Cara wouldn’t have expected from a warrior. She watches them snuggle against his helmet, faces burying into where his cowl covers his neck. They’re already calm again, settled in, little hands gripping the fabric as tight as they can.

“Missed you, too,  _ adike,”  _ he whispers, just barely audible.

The transport is just off to the side on the path. They walk to it, leaving the bodies behind and instead climbing up onto it. The toolboxes are scattered about the transport, and Mando takes a silent count to make sure none were taken. Cara looks down, and Mando isn’t limping, but his walk is favoring one leg over the other. “Hurt?”

“Might’ve twisted,” he mutters, and she misses the chance to bitch at him for it when he’s already getting into the transport. He’s careful about the twins in his arms before he’s settled, and Cara swings herself in beside him. “They were going for the tools. Might’ve thought it was food. They all came at once, let them chase me out there.”

He’s lowered the twins into his lap, setting his leg against the edge of the transport to rotate his foot. His shoulders are tense, he’s letting out a breath at a certain spot of each turn, and the boys are both leaning against his stomach to look up at him. The transport lurches and they begin to move.

“... You okay?” she asks.

“Didn’t sleep.” He draws his foot back in and just leans back, straightening his legs to let the twins get comfortable on him. There was once an awkwardness between him and the boys, the man clearly unable to let them get  _ close.  _ Now, it seems natural. “Wanted to get back as quick as possible. Just… felt wrong being away from them.”

“You killed five raiders on no sleep,” Cara says, “and only got a hurt ankle for it.”

“They weren’t that good. Probably all in worse shape, anyway.”

“Must be the strength of parenthood.”

He looks at her, and even when the visor never changes, she can  _ feel  _ his look. She laughs. “Messing, Mando.”

He lets out a breath. “Sure.”

But as they finish the journey towards the village at a leisurely pace, she sits back and watches. Though Riese, then Rhain both try to reach Mando’s ankle, as though sensing the hurt, he draws them back. They seem unhappy about it until he lets them play with his fingers and they seem delighted to explore how the joints work, giggling as they move them, even earning an amused huff from their otherwise silent caretaker.

Mando can deny his position, but even Cara can see that they’ve got him completely under their spell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a  
> Adike/Ad'ika - little ones/little one  
> Arasuumir - remain/stagnate
> 
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	10. The Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorgan isn't as safe as they'd hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter this time 'round.
> 
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> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

The weeks pass in the village. It’s calm, peaceful, and relaxing -- a glimpse at the simple life, where nothing beyond the trees matters in favor of farming, cooking, and  _ living.  _ Once the mech is taken apart and the metal placed into a shed of its own for future use, it’s like there were never any raiders at all. His ankle heals up after a few days of rest and he’s back on his feet again.

The twins adore playing with their friends. For them, it turns into a routine of eat, sleep, and play, always coming back to Din for attention. And as time passes, they do seem to place more trust in him. He can disappear with Cara for another patrol around the area without the desperate cries to follow. Instead, they’ll just continue playing, even with clear mindfulness of his disappearance. Din has learned to be careful around them when they always seem to be underfoot at the wrong times. 

He understands their moods better. At least, he thinks so. It might be something in their mewls that tells him they’re hungry or bored, the thoughts seeming to just… pop into his mind. He just gets it.

But as the days drag on, he knows that this paradise can’t last forever. He’s wanted by the Guild for stealing two assets from an Imperial client and staying here permanently just… it’s not a realistic option. He weighs it in his mind but knows there is no staying. Not for him.

But the boys are doing well here.

As the days pass on, the question tears at him. This life is not for him. He knows that, regardless of how alluring it may be. It’s not how he was raised. It’s not what he was raised  _ for.  _ Even when every cell in his body may cry out for something so pleasant as farming krill, he knows deep within his programming that it isn’t the Way.

Besides, he reasons, his armor is far too distinct. He cannot blend in, and though he’s sure a hunter won’t stumble across Sorgan, word of a Mandalorian may already be getting around. 

“Can I set you something in the house?”

“Uh, thank you. Maybe later.” Already, he cringes at his words.

Omera stands close, almost too close, and she eyes him. She looks over where the children sit together, laughing and talking, the twins sitting among them and simply being present. “They’re very happy here,” she says with a smile.

“They are,” he says.

“Fit right in.” She gives him another smile, then turns and steps off the porch, heading away. Din watches her go, then shifts his stance, looking again to the twins. Rhain had moved over now to sit on the ground beside Riese-- or, the other way around. He can’t tell from this distance. The boys look around at their friends with expressive ears.

“So, what happens if you take that thing off?”

He looks at Cara.

“They come after you and kill you?”

“No,” he says. “You just can’t ever put it back on again.”

“... That’s it?” She stares at him with a questioning look. “So you can slip off the helmet, and settle down with that beautiful young widow, and… raise your kid sitting here, sipping spotchka?”

He gives her a sharp look and she just shrugs, gaze moving away, as she takes a sip of the spotchka. But his stomach twists, barely mindful of the further accusation of feelings for Omera. He can’t explain in a way that they’ll ever come to understand, he’s realizing. Omera won’t understand. Even Cara, whose story runs a similar path of tragedy on its own scale, won’t understand. What the helmet means to him, to their people, the one thing they’ve been able to hold onto after their culture was shot apart by an army of E-Web guns.

He doesn’t know how to explain that once the helmet comes off, his entire sense of identity goes with it, never to return. That once it does, the Mandalorians will turn their backs on him,  _ aruetii,  _ an outsider. No coming back. He doesn’t know how to  _ live  _ without this armor.

“You know, we raised some hell here a couple weeks back.” He tries to bite back the sickening taste in his mouth, change the subject, think of what’s in front of him. “It’s too much action for a backwater town like this. Word travels past.” He pauses. “We might wanna cycle the charts and move on.”

Cara looks out towards the kids, lips pursed. “... Would not wanna be the one who’s gotta tell them,” she says. Din looks out, too, watching the kids as they toss krill towards the boys. Both are looking around, trying to catch them in the air but so distracted by all the others. Din bites his lip, frowning to himself.

“I’m leaving them here,” he says. “Traveling with me… that’s no life for kids. I did my job, they’re safe. Better chance at a life.”

The words hurt, emotions wrapped up in his chest, but they’re true anyway. He  _ has  _ done his job. He repented for his sin, did as a Mandalorian should, rescued the twins from danger and then brought them to a sanctuary. The people of this town were simple farmers, a tight-knit community that looks out for their own. They’ve accepted the twins so easily, and the  _ adike _ have been  _ happy.  _ He has no further obligation. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to leave, but he won’t bring further threat to them by staying.

It would be selfish.

“It’s gonna break their little hearts,” Cara sighs, taking another sip of spotchka.

“They’ll get over it,” he says. He swallows. “They all do.”

Cara just frowns, and Din steels himself against it.

The sun shines bright the next morning. He’ll need the transport to return his things to the ship, and at its slow pace, he’ll need to leave in the morning to reach the  _ Razor Crest  _ by nightfall. At dawn, he’s up and packing his things, keeping an eye towards the sleeping boys. He gets it neatened up in his storage units, ready to load up and head out. The guilt is present, but he urges it down. It’s only amplified when the twins wake and coo happily at him, arms lifted to be taken out. He gets them out of the crib, down to the floor to wander as they please.

Rhain stops and looks up at him. His ears lower down. Riese stops, too, and stares up. Their gazes seem weighed with knowledge of what’s to come and his heart in his throat, he turns away to continue.

But they venture out for food and friends.

It’s almost mid-morning, later than he intended, when he approaches Omera. The kids are playing, distracted, when he comes to the ponds. “Excuse me,” he says, and she looks up at him. “... Can I have a word?”

She smiles and nods, standing. He glances around at the farmers nearby before he starts to lead them further away, careful of his footing on the wet soil between ponds. They’re far away enough just to have some privacy before he turns to her. It still feels as though his heart is in his throat, bracing himself for the conversation at hand. “It’s… very nice here,” he says.

She smiles up at him and nods, giving a look around. “Yes,” she says.

“I think it’s clear they’re… they’re happy here.”

For a moment, her eyes scan over him, as though searching for the facial expressions that aren’t there. “What about you?” she asks, almost without hesitation, and for a moment it seems his thoughts have stopped working entirely. He just stares at her.

_ What about… _

“Me?” he echoes.

“Are you happy here?”

He can only stare. When has  _ anyone  _ cared about him being happy? Happiness is a faded memory of his childhood. It was there in the before times, before war came to his home and stole his parents. It existed, tentatively, with the Mandalorians, with his clanmates, with his father. But certainly not since the Purge, when any sort of happiness or contentment took a back seat for survival.

“We want you to stay,” Omera says, drawing him out of those thoughts. “The community’s  _ grateful.  _ You can pack all this away in case there’s ever trouble.” She looks up at him. “You and your boys could have a good life. They could be children for a while…” She smiles. “Wouldn’t that be  _ nice?” _

He looks past her towards the children. They all sit together, smiling, happy. Maker, it  _ would. _

“It would,” he voices aloud, a strain in his voice. He can feel the tremor in his hands. And for a moment, he hates himself for it, hates how weak he feels in this moment, the lack of decision. He’s grateful to have the helmet to hide his face, to have the weight of beskar that holds him steady. She smiles at him. He can feel his resolve beginning to fall apart.

Her hands reach up to his helmet. He stands still. She starts to lift it, and the pressure eases off as though taking the weight of his responsibility with it. He swallows, painfully, frozen in place.  _ Yes, no,  _ his mind can’t decide, heart pounding in his chest. It’s so tempting. Peace is right in front of him.

But his hands come up and he grabs her arms, stopping, lowering them back down. His helmet rests in place again, and there’s a disappointment on her face, a disappointment he shares even when he isn’t sure why. “I don’t belong here,” he says. “But they do.”

“I understand,” she says. She looks down at his armor, then up to him, the conflict on her face. “I will look after them as my own.”

The guilt doesn’t lift, but she’s sincere, and for that he can relax. He’s seen her with the boys, seen how they trust her. This  _ has  _ to be the right choice. It has to be.

The gunshot breaks the peace, sending birds flocking to the air.

Din whips around towards the sound, a hand grabbing Omera to pull her behind him. “Go get the kids!” he shouts, and takes off towards the trees where the shot came from. His first thought is  _ raiders.  _ Of course the ones that came after him wouldn’t be the only ones. Desperation could fuel terrible decisions. He sprints into the trees, stopping with a hand on one as the other reaches for his HUD controls. He switches to infrared, searching for a heat signature, until he looks up and sees one red shape standing and another on the ground. He switches back and runs over, spotting Cara.

She looks at him. His heart is pounding. He looks down and his stomach jolts as he sees the hunter. He recognizes the body -- though no name comes to mind, he knows he’s seen the same hunter at the common house. The tracking fob beeps, a muffled sound beneath the hunter’s body, and Din pushes him over with a foot before he bends down and picks it up.

“Who’s he tracking?” Cara asks, her voice dark.

Din looks down at it. “The kids,” he says. He looks down and sees the second fob on the hunter’s belt, then towards the village.

“They know they’re here,” Cara says.

“Yes.”

“Then they’ll keep coming.”

“... Yes.”

He smashes the fob beneath his foot.

The twins watch from the transport. At first, they followed Din about as he made the trips back and forth between the transport and the barn, but were too underfoot and nearly stepped on or kicked. Now, they sit on top of a box, hands gripped with sad ears. The villagers have gathered to watch and the children all look miserable.

Rhain cuddles up to Riese, eyes wet and head resting on Riese’s shoulder. When Din comes near, they make soft little whimpers, looking up at him as though begging to stay. “We can’t,” Din mutters to them. It isn’t safe here anymore. But the guilt has lessened now. They’re leaving together, and though the situation is one of danger, he can’t leave them behind.

They’re being sent off with plenty of fresh food, with preserved krill and fruits from the area. Din is already planning in his head how to make it last. As he settles the another box of ammo in beside the donated carrier, Cara comes up with a smile. “Are you  _ sure  _ you don’t want an escort?”

“I appreciate the offer,” he says, and places the last one in. He looks at her. “But we’re gonna bypass the town and head right to the  _ Razor Crest.” _

She smiles at him. “Well, then,” she says, and hefts her bag onto her shoulder, “until our paths cross.” She holds out her hand.

Din grabs it. “Until our paths cross,” he says. She grins, and then their grip breaks apart. He’s about to turn back to the transport when Winta sprints out from the villagers, tears in her eyes, and grabs onto both twins in one bear hug. They both snuggle into her.

“I’m going to miss you  _ so much,”  _ she says, voice clouded with tears.

Omera steps out as well, and Din faces her. For a moment, they only look at each other, gaze holding. “Thank you,” she says.

Din nods.

“Here.” She reaches into her pocket and holds up an object hanging from her fingers. He looks down at two necklaces, one made with blue stones and another with red. They’re the same size as the ones made for the twins, and he stares before reaching out to take them. “In case they ever decide to wear them.”

Din looks at the necklaces. They’re beautiful, evenly spaced and made with expertise, the rocks smooth and shining in the light. “Thank you,” he says.

She smiles at him.

Beside them, Winta pulls away from the twins. Both look at her and Riese coos. She looks miserable as she returns to her mother, and both return to the other villagers. Din grabs his last bag and rifle and comes around to the back of the transport, tossing the bag in and laying the rifle down. Aware of the eyes on them, he sits on the end. As the transport begins to move, he looks out at the villagers, and Winta waves. He nods.

The rest begin to wave, too, and the transport trundles towards the forest, the twins watching the sanctuary disappear with sad eyes.

They reach the  _ Razor Crest  _ with little trouble if any, night fallen long ago. Din is nearly asleep himself when they bump to a stop, and he looks up with sleepy eyes at the ship. The  _ adike _ both nap in his lap and he gathers them up in his arms as he wrenches himself out of the transport. “Closer,” he mutters to the droid, and the droid beeps, drawing towards the flood lights.

He walks up to the ship and pushes for the door to lower. As it does, the twins whimper and begin to stir, squirming a bit. “Shh,” Din says, walking up and inside. It took forever for them to fall asleep, far too upset with him to relax. They grumble and whine, pushing a bit at him again, but they’re too tired to be angry. He brings his cape around to help hold them as he climbs the ladder, heading up into the bedroom. “It’s okay. Sleep.”

He gets them settled into his bed, both lying side by side at the pillow and he tucks the blanket in around them both for comfort and to hopefully keep them there. Riese stares up at him, and Rhain seems to be the one most upset now. He huffs and doesn’t look at Din, and Din can almost feel the displeasure coming from him as though the energy was physical. Or Riese is too tired to be mad.

“We’ll find somewhere else,” he whispers. He puts a hand down on them, his touch light but palm spread across both. “I’m sorry. I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”

They look up at him, quiet.

“I won’t leave you until I know you are.”

Then, he pulls himself back up and goes down to begin unloading.

It takes a long time when he’s on his own to move the luggage with only the transport droid for company. He doesn’t bother yet to really put it all away, letting the boxes line the cargo hold instead, straps drawn from their anchors in the walls to secure it all. He can barely keep his eyes open. After what seems to take forever, the droid is sent on its way home and he closes up the ship, hears the locking mechanism click into place, and climbs back to the cockpit.

He settles into the chair, forcing his eyes open more. He begins the startup sequence, engines flaring open, systems humming. They rise into the air, heading straight up, and begin to fly towards the stars. He yawns. He holds the ship steady as they escape the atmosphere’s pull until they’re drifting and he can relax his grip on the controls, bringing up the star charts.

_ Time to find somewhere new. _

A coo comes from behind him.

He turns the chair and looks down at… Riese. He blinks the blurriness from his eyes and yes, it’s Riese, wandering over to him. He looks as sleepy as Din feels but has tired determination to come to Din, to stand at the side of the chair and demand _ up. _

Din doesn’t rebuke him. He doesn’t bring him back to the bed. He just reaches down and lifts the boy into his lap, one hand on him to hold steady as the other continues tapping through the ship’s database. He yawns and blinks his eyes clear of the tears. “... Want to stay out of the core,” he mutters. “Too much security.” Even if the core worlds could be so populated that melding in would be easy -- if he wasn’t a Mandalorian. Riese looks up at him. “Outer rim is best for us.”

Riese lets out a quiet coo and snuggles against his gambeson.

“Yeah, it’ll be dangerous. But we don’t have a choice here.”

The child is falling asleep against him. Din rubs his back, feeling the warmth of the tiny weight on his lap, and lets out a sigh. He sets a course for the nearest moon and switches the  _ Crest  _ to autopilot. Without disturbing Riese, he shifts to lean back in the chair, eyes falling shut. He won’t move Rhain just to have his own bed back. He holds Riese with one arm, his other hand coming to cover him, and lets his head tilt to the side.

Just a few hours.

They drift on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	11. Distant Sands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, they seem like babies. Like little children who just want to play, to sleep, to eat. They whine at him for his attention, pleased to receive it, and sleep when they please rather than when he frustratedly tries to put them down. But sometimes they seem… so much older.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! This story got away from me for a long time, largely due to... this chapter. It's just... Toro. It's Toro's fault. All him. Din-centric episodes where the baby doesn't get a lot of screentime (so, this chapter and the next) are difficult.
> 
> But I hope to get started up again on this to finally finish.
> 
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He’d like to say the hunter had come out of nowhere. That some sort of wormhole had opened up and the ship had started firing on them. Not that he’d been caught off guard. Not that the  _ Razor Crest  _ didn’t detect them. Not that he’d been too busy spooning food into two little ones’ mouths to notice anything was wrong until they were hit and everything shook.

He’d thrown everything aside, grabbed the startled boys up in his arms, raced up to the cockpit where alarms blare.

_ “Look what I found.” _

The hunter’s voice crackles over the comms unit and Din grits his teeth, swooping the ship down again. The alarms heighten the sense of urgency, and he’s feeling the ship tremble and shudder with every successful hit. But none are quite on target, he knows. Not every explosion is as bad as it could be. He scowls to himself, hands racing to keep control but also work the ship’s system. Different alarms keep blaring with every hit, buttons hit to try and control the damage.  _ Fuck,  _ he thinks, as another hit lands and the boys both whimper behind him from their new ship seat.

_ “Hunter becomes the hunted, huh?” _

Din huffs. Maker, shut up, he thinks. He pushes the joysticks forward again as the ship dives down, swinging out to the side. The twins both gasp and squeak as they’re thrown about the seat. Din glances back at them.

_ “Hand over the kids, Mando.” _

Another hit. Sparks fly and a warning light begins to flash at him. He looks at the kids again, both looking up at him with frightened eyes as they hold onto the edge of the bin. 

_ “I might let you live.” _

He reaches up to mash a few more response buttons, trying to calm it down, when another hit rocks them. He’s jerked forward and his heart pounds, looking down at the illustration of the ship with red surrounding their left engine. Another alarm begins to scream at him, more intense than the first few, and he flips switches to his right. They’re slowed, the engine almost out of commission. He twists the joysticks in his hand, leaning them, trying to make up the difference.

_ Stay calm.  _ He can hear his father’s words in the back of his mind.  _ Panicking won’t help you in a fight. Know your ship, know what she can do. _

“Hold on,” he mutters, and sends them spiraling down. But the hunter is right back on his tail, firing again. He stares at the screen. “... Come  _ on.” _

The hunter’s voice comes over the comms again.  _ “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.” _

His jaw tightens. He hits another button, then grips the joysticks, feeling the ship rock with more hits. He jerks back the controls and the engine panels flare out, reversing themselves, and the whole ship is thrown forward before it reverses back. The hunter’s ship barely lifts up, skimming the top of the  _ Razor Crest,  _ and Din leans back before finding the ship in his radar.

“That’s my line,” he growls.

He squeezes the trigger and the hunter screams out as his ship blows, the fragments thrown out in a firey display. Din takes a deep breath to calm his heart.

He looks around and begins to hit buttons and turn switches, bringing the ship down from fight mode to survival. He looks down at the screen, running the systems check. “Losing fuel,” he mutters. He reaches out and turns a few more keys, shutting down the engines, turning everything off. They’re plunged into darkness, lit only by the emergency lights and the stars. Behind him, the twins giggle. He looks back, and they coo.

Through it all, Riese’s red necklace stayed in place, and Rhain with his blue. Tucking them into the folded-down edge of their robe’s collars seemed like a useless try, but it seems both secure and to not bother them there. They blink up at him, and he lets out a breath. They seem fine.

He tests each control, but the ship is dead. He gets up and heads to the other copilot seat, finding a switch to recycle the power, and the emergency lights intensify as he gets back into his seat. He reboots the ship as the  _ adike  _ coo, the systems coming back online with whirls and  _ whooshes.  _ In the distance, a red planet looms.

Din lets out a grumble. Tatooine isn’t… his first choice. It’s not high on the list. But if he has a dying engine, a damaged ship and likely plenty of carbon scoring, Tatooine has mechanics. He reaches up and turns on the radio signal, hearing the static come through.

_ “This is Mos Eisley Tower. We are tracking you. Head for bay three-five, over.” _

“Copy that,” he says. He reaches up for a switch. “Locked in for three-five.”

As they approach the surface, he looks back towards the boys. Both are starting to look sleepy, and Din lets himself have a few moments to relax and breathe. They’ll be okay, for just a little while.

When they land, both boys are so tuckered out from the exciting event that they’re half asleep, leaning on each other to stay up. Din watches them, then gets up and brings both into his arms. Time for a nap. He settles them down in the storage compartment to sleep, wrapped together in a blanket, and shuts the door.

They’ll be safe there. This is  _ Tatooine. _ There’s no one else to trust.

They wake up alone.

That’s the odd thing. They don’t usually wake up alone; someone has always been there, within sight or nearby. Riese wakes first as his eyes peel open and he looks around, eyelids heavy and almost too warm. He’s beside his brother; that’s normal. But where he wakes up is decidedly not normal, and he turns to push at Rhain’s back.

_ Wake. _

Rhain rolls over to look at him, eyes opening. They stare at each other.

This is odd, they agree.

Riese gets up first. He squirms out of the blanket prison that traps them and looks around at their surroundings. They’re in a box. He reaches out to the Force, feels it come to life at his call, and it answers him.

There is one way to freedom.

But it will not lead to their father.

It is… confusing. Riese puts out his hand and the wall moves, the compartment opening for him as Rhain gets up. Both children look out into the ship. They are home, but… their father isn’t. They look at each other. They’re very tired, and still trying to wake up, but they can see sunlight and they know that the ship has stopped moving. The question lingers.

What to do about this?

Riese answers by climbing down.

Rhain whimpers.  _ Nervous  _ pulses between them, and Riese responds with  _ calm.  _ He makes it to the floor without issue, and Rhain is hesitant before he begins to climb down, too. He reaches the floor.

_ If father mad— _

Riese takes his hand.  _ Not mad. _

They’re going to find their father, and he’ll be proud of them for being able to do so.

They start to make their way off the ship. The sun is bright, and they’re tired; they blink against it as they begin down the ramp. Their hands are held tight together, side by side like always, ears low. Rhain yawns. Riese looks around. Someone is yelling.

“I’d get back in that ship if I were you!”

They don’t know what the words mean. But they understand the emotions. They notice, then, the lady in front of them — she’s nothing like the nice people they’ve just left behind. She holds something in her hands, and droids surround her, all staring at the  _ adike  _ with a bit of fear but more curiosity.

“What…?”

They reach the bottom of the ramp. Slowly, she starts to come towards them, and both blink again before reaching their arms up. She bends down and picks up Riese, slowly, then gathers up Rhain with the other arm. “Let… Peli take a good look at you,” she says. “There you go…”

She’s uncertain but kind, and Riese coos at her while Rhain begins to babble. “Did that bounty hunter leave you all alone in that big nasty ship?” she asks, and they tilt their heads. The droids chatter beside them.

Yes, they decide at the same time, their father is gone but this lady is nice and they will like her.  _ Meela!  _ Rhain goes, and Riese coos in agreement. Yes, she’s just like their favorite padawan to have watched over them in the crèche. 

Once food is introduced to them, all thoughts of waking up alone are gone. The boys happily munch away on the meat that the nice lady gives them, and she watches them with wide eyes and a surprised expression when they devour the chunks of meat whole. Their father didn’t seem as surprised, but their father’s face doesn’t have changing expressions like hers. He always looks the same, and it’s his emotions that shift. “You liked that?” she asks.

They stare up at her, letting out soft coos as their answer.

She smiles at them.

When the Mandalorian returns, she’s only just gotten the little monsters to sleep.

The shout of “hey!” startles her awake, and the identical children in her arms break into tears in almost an instant. “I’m awake, I’m awake!” she shouts back, the years of unending hangar work still drilled into her, when she realizes the situation and instead jumps to shush them. The two children cry in tandem, faces scrunched in tears.

“Where are they?”

“Quiet!” Peli gets up, trying to bounce both children at once to calm them down. “Oh — shh. It’s okay. You woke them up! Do you have any idea how long it took me to get them to sleep?”

The Mandalorian stands outside his ship, her pit droid still a folded, scared disc on the ground. “Give them to me,” he says, pointing a finger at her, and Peli scowls at him.

“Not so fast!” She leans both boys out of his reach, irritation and exhaustion pulling at her. “You can’t just leave a  _ child _ all alone like that! Must less  _ two.” _ She huffs. “You know, you have an awful lot to learn about raisin’ young ones.”

The Mandalorian… doesn’t respond. Where she expected an angry retort, the typical masculine response to a besmirched ego, she receives silence. The helmet instead tilts down towards the children, and she looks down, both faces staring up at her. The one with the red beaded necklace coos, and then the other with the blue makes a whimper before he turns and leans towards the Mandalorian, arms held out. The Mandalorian takes a step forward, gentle in removing him from her arms, and the little one curls up at his shoulder as soon as he makes contact.

It’s… adorable.

He might be a shit caretaker, but the little ones may actually like him.

“Anyway…” The other child seems content where he is and she turns towards her equipment. It’s equally shit, barely responsive as she hits the buttons. “I started the repair on the fuel leaks — there you go. I had a couple setbacks I wanted to talk to you about. You know, I didn’t use any droids, as  _ requested,  _ so it took me a lot longer than I expected.” She hits the side of the damn thing, huffing.

The Mandalorian went up into the ship as she spoke, and now comes back down the ramp with a bag in one hand, the other still holding the baby.

“But I figured you were good for the money since… you have some mouths to feed.” She looks down at the child in her arms, then at the Mandalorian, who looks back at her. For a moment, she only looks at the child with a suggestive gaze.

Assuming the Mandalorian had the money to pay — well… sure. A bit of a gamble mixed with a guilt trip. And using two children’s presence as leverage might have been… questionable on any other planet. But she also had to feed herself and keep the bay running.

“Thank you,” he says.

“... Oh.” She pauses and stares up at him. “Oh. I guess I was right. You got a job, didn’t you?” As he heads to the door, she follows, adjusting the child at her hip.

He doesn’t speak. But he does turn and hand over the second child, who blinks with a scrunched up face, confused at being moved. She takes the boy into her other arm and the Mandalorian steps out through the door.

“You know, it’s costing me a lot of money to keep these droids even powered up—”

“Hey, Mando, what do you think?” Outside the bay sit two speeder bikes. A young man leans against one, arms crossed with a satisfied smirk, and Peli eyes him. “Not too shabby, huh?”

The Mandalorian walks over and settles his bag on the back of the bike. He strolls forward and adjusts the front connector, and it clicks. His helmet tilts back up towards the kid, body language suggesting he’s none too impressed.

“What’d you expect? This ain’t Corellia.” The kid looks towards Peli. “Ma’am.”

She eyes him further, face scrunched, adjusting both twins in her arms. One coos, both blinking against the sunlight. The other giggles. They look at each other, almost having a silent conversation. The kid climbs onto the bike, and the Mandalorian does the same after he’s secured his bag. They speed off at once into the hills of sand, and she watches them go.

In her arms, the children babble. One looks up at her and reaches up, giggling. Both have happy smiles, and she looks down before smiling back. “Let’s find something to do, huh?”

She takes them back inside, into the shade.

He’s going to murder Calican.

Of all the lessons to teach a new hunter, he didn’t think one would be to not fucking shoot your quarry before you bring them in.

Returning to the bay takes too long on the Dewback compared to the speeders, but his irritation shimmers beneath the surface and keeps him occupied. By the time he’s reached Mos Eisley again, the first sun is already beginning to rise, and he ties up the Dewback at the bay before seeing the speeder. 

His body goes cold.

He draws his pistol and makes his way inside, taking slow steps to listen for any sounds. Calican couldn’t have known about the kids — the brat wasn’t even in the Guild yet, and wasn’t going to get the juicy gossip about Din when Guildmasters like Karga preferred to keep problems quiet until they were handled. That was why Karga had become so fond of him, after all. Din didn’t talk, didn’t gossip, just did the job. So instead he thinks of Fennec and curses under his breath, because she  _ must’ve  _ heard and told him, only for the kid to decide that Din was the better quarry of the two.

The bay is dark and empty, his ship sitting in the center, until he comes close. 

Mechanical whistles. A bay droid leaps up and sprints past, running into Motto’s office with the other two before they drop down with distressed beeps. Din’s stomach is in knots. With slow, careful steps, he begins again towards his ship. He steadies his breathing. His pistol is held out in front of him.

“Took you long enough, Mando.”

He raises the pistol higher, his dread increasing.

He sees Motto first, walking down the ramp of the  _ Crest  _ with a forcefully brave expression. Toro is behind her, a blaster planted firmly in her back, but Din’s eyes are only drawn to the two little green creatures in his arm. Toro holds them both at once, and it’s something of a struggle. Riese is somewhat calm, ears lowered, while at the sight of Din, Rhain lets out a cry. He squirms hard in Toro’s hold, practically mewling, until Toro scowls and gives them a harsh squeeze. Both squeak and fall silent.

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now. Huh, partner?”

Din turns his blaster on him, scowling.

“Drop your blaster and raise ‘em.”

Din’s jaw tightens. His finger twitches beside the trigger. But the hostages stare back at him and he’s slow to bend down, drop his blaster, and let it land in the sand. He lets his hand brush past his belt, then straightens up and reaches his hands back behind his head.

Toro nudges the barrel of his own blaster into Motto’s back. “Cuff him.”

Motto groans but walks down the ramp. Din watches her, unmoving, but adjusts his hands a little lower behind his head. She comes around behind him and he grips the flash charge.

“You’re a  _ Guild traitor,  _ Mando.”

Motto opens the cuffs behind his neck, but stops.

“And I’m willing to bet  _ these  _ are the targets you helped escape.”

Riese and Rhain both whimper, little hands grabbed at each other fearfully. Din feels the surge of anger well up in his chest, pushing it back down to stay cool and collected. Toro’s casual wave of his blaster towards the twins tests his limits. But Motto leans up against his back.

_ “You’re smarter than you look,”  _ she whispers, and it can fuel his ego later.

“Fennec was right.” Toro turns the blaster back onto him. Din watches. It confirms Din’s assumption — the kid was too damn fame-hungry. “Bringing you in won’t just make me a member of the Guild. It’ll make me  _ legendary.” _

Din flexes his fingers. Toro smirks, aiming his blaster straight at Din, and his gaze is focused. Din turns his wrist and presses on the charge.

The bolt of light shoots out onto the floor. Toro gasps and turns away, eyes squeezed shut against the blinding light. “Go,” Din hisses, and he ducks one way as Motto ducks the other. A shot finds the floor, then another, and a third all fired blind, as Din gets behind cover. The kid is squinting in pain, arm sweeping as he searches for them.

He steps out, arm raised. His sight lands square on Toro, away from the kids. Just as Toro turns towards him, he squeezes the trigger and the blaster jolts in his hand. Toro lets out a shout before falling off the side of the ramp, unmoving on the floor.

Din holsters and steps back, walking around. “Stay back,” he mutters to Motto, who’s immediately at his back.

“Gotta get it,” she mutters, hands brushing his back.

He walks over to Toro’s body, but he already feels cold as he grabs the kid’s arm. Dead, yes. The bolt went through his chest and Din isn’t worried of that. But the twins are  _ gone,  _ both disappeared, and as he shoves Toro’s body over, there’s no sign of them at all. 

“Where is it?” Motto demands. Both turn, heads on a swivel. Din takes a shaky breath, his heart pounding, and looks under the ramp and then near the barrels. But a little trill draws their attention and Motto is sinking down to one knee, letting out a soft  _ “Ohh”  _ as Riese peeks out from behind the crates. Rhain is just behind him, eyes welled with tears. “There you are! Are you hiding from us? Huh? That must’ve been real loud for those big ol’ ears…”

Din lets out a breath of relief. As Riese comes to Motto to be picked up, he turns and bends down to look over Toro’s body. His blaster is new, nice, but not worth taking. His charges are already spent. Tied to his belt is a pouch full of credits, which he’ll happily take, standing with the pouch.

“It’s okay. Shh…”

Din turns, but only takes a step before he pauses. Rhain stands in front of him, sniffling as he looks up, and raises his arms. Din looks down, flexing the fingers of his free hand, but bends over and scoops Rhain up. “You’re alright,” he murmurs, the baby shoving his face in against Din’s neck. “I know…”

He walks over to Motto, who cradles Riese with clear adoration. She holds Riese snug and looks up at Din with almost shyness. “So…” she shifts her weight. “I take it you didn’t get paid?”

She sighs. Din looks down at her, how she fusses with Riese’s beaded necklace as though to play off her disappointment. Din smiles to himself, then lifts the credits purse. It draws her attention and she sets Riese on the ground before putting her hands out. He dumps out the contents of the purse into her palms and her eyes are wide, counting it up, as Din lets the empty purse drop to the side. 

“That cover me?” he asks.

For a moment, Motto doesn’t speak. But then she nods quickly. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Yeah, that’ll cover you.”

Din nods. He bends down and lifts Riese into his arms, who coos happily at him, and turns towards the ship. He begins to walk up the ramp, cradling both in his arms. They seem okay, though he doesn’t want to take it for granted that they  _ look _ it. As he walks into the ship and Motto yells for the droids to move the body, he shuts the door behind them.

It closes with a hiss. The twins coo and babble, squirmy in his arms, until he can get himself up into the cockpit and place them in their seat. “Stay,” he says. He sinks into his chair with a tired sigh. They both quiet down quickly, pressing together and watching him with big eyes. He glances at them before he turns and begins the launch cycle.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. Rhain coos.

In the safety of hyperspace, he watches them. As they take a short nap, as they seem to coo and converse with each other, as they explore the cockpit further and then as they seem to watch him in return. They’re so… odd, he thinks.

Sometimes, they seem like babies. Like little children who just want to play, to sleep, to eat. They whine at him for his attention, pleased to receive it, and sleep when they please rather than when he frustratedly tries to put them down. But sometimes they seem… so much older. Close to 50 than toddlerhood. Sometimes they look at each other with serious expressions, clearly conversing, and somehow seem far wiser than he ever could have hoped to guess.

They had been so  _ calm  _ with a gun pointed at them like danger was an old friend.

But they seem to be okay, as far as he can tell. When he holds them, gentle in pressing on spots, they don’t whimper or flinch in pain. They seem shaken at most before recovering, and now are just bored.  _ Bored is better than injured,  _ he thinks. But if they were injured, if that fall had broken a bone — what was there to do?

His finances don’t look good. As he watches them play, he has the sinking realization that if they were hurt or sick, if they needed more care than he was capable of giving — they would be hard-pressed to find a clinic that would allow a Mandalorian through their doors for no hefty charge. If he needed repairs again, and didn’t happen to come up with the sum right there… if they ran out of food?

He needs credits.

The boys sit on the floor, content in tossing the metal ball grip between them. They catch it in the air with surprising dexterity. With a sigh, Din turns around in his seat, and he turns on the computer’s contact list. The Crest is good in its memory storage, and with hesitance, he begins to scroll through the list of previously used signal markers.

He’s going to have to turn to some old friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)   
>  [Tumblr](https://coffeequill.tumblr.com/)   
>  [Twitter](https://twitter.com/coffee_quill)

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a:  
> Osik - dung (impolite)
> 
> Come chat on the [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr!](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)


End file.
